


You On Top And Me Underneath

by lefthandofglory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bathing/Washing, Begging, Bondage, Bottom Draco, Chastity Device, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, Impact Play, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rating: NC17, Sexual Slavery, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Charlie Weasley, Top Harry, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9934433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lefthandofglory/pseuds/lefthandofglory
Summary: In which Draco does submission the Malfoy way*, Harry is desperate to top but pants at communicating, and Charlie must use all his dragon-taming skills to sort the two berks out.*just because you’ve got a penchant for peasant cock doesn’t mean you have to bepoliteabout it





	

Draco dropped the file on Potter’s desk, relishing the thump: heavy, dull, and twanging with paperclips. It was the sound of a Friday night flushing down the loo, lost to paperwork and stale coffee. "You forgot the A2-8G sub-addendum attestation to the arrest report, with the related double J forms fully explaining the nature of the toxins used and the Ministry-declared standards on levels of acceptable human exposure. We can’t start the case without them."

Potter blanched. His Auror robes were horribly wrinkled and there was a stain on the right sleeve which might have been tea and might have been blood. "Malfoy," he groaned. "I can’t. I’m busy tonight. I’ve got a," he waved his arms, "a thing."

Draco gave him his best you-are-a-lower-life-form stare. "A thing? How interesting. Is that how the common people spend their time these days. At _things_?"

Potter flushed. "Never mind. It doesn’t matter." He grabbed the file. "I’ll get it done."

Draco smoothed down his elegant grey barrister’s robes. Contrary to popular opinion, he hadn’t chosen his profession because the colour flattered his eyes. It was merely a side benefit. "Whatever, Potter. Have it on my desk ASAP or we’ll have to let the nutter go."

Potter flicked furiously through the pages, his quill jumping to his hand. He started scribbling, not even bothering to watch Draco’s retreating arse.

That wouldn’t do at all. Draco came back and rested said bum on the edge of the desk. "Is there a special someone you’ll be disappointing with your tardiness tonight? It can’t be the She-Weasel. I know you aren’t together anymore."

"None of your business," Potter said, still scribbling without looking up. "I have no idea how you know these things anyway. Is it some branch of divination I missed out on? Does it come to you in dreams, who’s shagging who, and why, and how?"

Actually, Draco knew because Charlie had told him, and Charlie knew because it was his sister the four-eyed git had been boffing. Still, if Potter wanted to think Draco was a god of gossip, he didn’t mind. Kept people on their toes if they thought you knew everything. 

There was a certain wariness in Potter’s shoulders which was interesting too, he decided as he watched Potter write. The Chosen One couldn’t possibly have a dirty secret, could he?

Draco shrugged to himself, slid off the desk, and sauntered away. Potter’s idea of a secret was probably one pint too many followed by a tit grope. An outside-the-jumper tit grope at that. How the other half lived—if you called that living—it was a mystery to him. 

*

Harry finished the paperwork with a flourish and charmed it to the barrister’s branch of the Ministry. Then he was off to the floo as fast as he could while still maintaining a modicum of dignity. Or at least not so fast he’d spook the janitors. Of all the nights to be kept late, he griped to himself—he’d been looking forward to this for, well, _ever_. The one thing he’d always wanted in bed was on offer tonight and he’d been kept late by sodding paperwork. 

He threw the powder into the Ministry floo and called out his home address. He’d shower and change, twenty minutes tops. He hit the bathroom and ripped off his robes, all the while indulging in a fantasy of Malfoy on his knees, being fed his own forms one strip at a time, his belly slowly filling with the case file. Harry’s cock was hard before he even touched the soap.

He’d spent so much time denying what he wanted. He’d always had fantasies of a man kneeling before him, servicing him, taking his cock deep, gagging a little but loving it. Of fucking a man rough, hearing him cry out as Harry forced his way in, of a ball’s deep relentless pounding while the poor sod begged to be allowed to come. Sometimes Harry said yes, in the fantasy. Sometimes he said no.

He turned the water to cold, willing his prick down. Merlin forbid he come before he even got over there. He was _done_ being ashamed of what he wanted. Instead he was going to do it. Tonight.

He’d tried not to worry about it when he was younger. He’d clung to the fact that he also had fantasies about girls, ordinary thoughts about breasts and pussies and how generally nice it would be to get his dick in for a bit of the thrust-o action. Pure vanilla.

He’d told himself it was obvious that the sex slave ones belonged to Voldemort. Harry was the good guy, so the nice, girl-oriented ones were his. Right. So as soon as he killed that snake-headed bastard, he’d be a completely normal heterosexual man. Meat and potatoes, white-bread missionary position sex, just like Ron.

Except—well, except the better he got at occlumency, the more the girl-related fantasies went away. Back in sixth year he’d told Ginny they had to break up because it wasn’t fair to her he had to go hunt Horcruxes. He hadn’t mentioned the fact that he was finding it harder and harder to want her soft mouth and her cushy breasts, let alone what was down below. It was fine, though—there was a war on and he was dedicated to fighting it. He didn’t want sex with her because he was a soldier, a man who lived to fulfill his destiny!

Then Voldemort was dead, along with the ugly little soul-baby he’d wedged in Harry’s head. And one-half of Harry’s fantasies were gone, just like that. The girl ones. Oh God. That had been a horrible realization. The kinky-as-fuck queer sex slave fantasies were _his_. The vanilla het sex ones had been Tom Riddle’s. It was almost enough for him to want the psychotic bastard back.

He’d fought his desires, he’d really tried, even getting back together with Ginny during Auror training. Which was fine, except for the fact it was only manageable because training kept him away for long stretches, then when he was in town he could reasonably claim to be too tired to do anything in bed. Then training was over and he was forced—at the pointy end of an angry red-head’s finger—to admit that he really, absolutely, didn’t want to have sex with her. Or any girl.

He pulled on his jeans and threw on the nearest clean shirt he could find. After all, it didn’t matter what he wore, he realized with a ferocious grin. It wasn’t like the bloke he was going to fuck tonight could say no. Harry didn’t have to wine and dine him and wonder if he’d put out. He’d get fucked exactly the way Harry wanted to fuck him and he’d say thank you for it afterwards.

That had been the good part of breaking up with Ginny. He’d managed to eek out to her a tiny fraction of an admission about the things he really wanted. She’d been great in the end, really the best ex he could have hoped for. After all, she’d told him exactly who he needed to talk to about this. Someone who already had what Harry wanted. Someone experienced, who was relaxed and willing to show Harry the ropes, even share his sub for the night. 

No, not his sub. His _slave_. Harry had seen the contract, all drawn up, each ball-tighteningly exciting clause spelling out, line by line, exactly what could be done to the slave. They’d talked it through and Harry had learned all these words for what he was—top, dominant, master—and that it was fine, really, because there were men who wanted the same thing on the opposite end. There were bottoms, subs, slaves who’d love to serve him. Men who fantasized about having done to them all the things that Harry fantasized about doing.

And he was going to meet one of them tonight. He squeezed his bollocks through his jeans, willing some self-control, threw powder in the floo and called out the address.

*

Draco shifted on the floor, knees aching. His posture was perfect—as always—back straight, legs wide, bollocks dangling, hands clasped behind his back. "He’s late. Your mystery guest has no manners, you know that?"

"You’re mouthy tonight," Charlie said from the sofa, but he said it with a smile. Charlie liked him mouthy. Liked to correct him for it, beat some manners into him. It never took, of course, which was just fine because Charlie hated stoic, compliant slaves. What would a dragon tamer want with some fluffy bunny of a slave? 

The floo crackled green. Excitement twisted in Draco’s stomach, along with a curdle of anxiety. Charlie was offering him to a friend tonight. Someone Charlie was going to teach how to top, with all their lessons played out on Draco’s flesh. A stranger who was going to fondle Draco’s bollocks and fuck his face and plow his arse, all while Charlie patiently explained how to use a slave like him. 

It was utterly humiliating, which meant he was rock-hard already. Charlie had even shown the bloke their contract—names redacted, of course. He’d let this stranger see all the things Draco had to do for Charlie, all the ways he’d agreed to please him, all the punishments he received when he failed.

The floo spat a final time and belched the stranger out.

Oh, fuck. Draco sucked in a sudden hitching breath. Not a stranger. His bollocks shrank and tightened all at the same time, not sure if they wanted to get away or get right to it. 

Green eyes. Glasses. Dark messy hair. Jeans and ratty trainers and a painfully orange Chudley Cannons T shirt. It couldn’t be—

"Harry!" Charlie stood up, casting a smirk Draco’s way. "Glad you made it."

Only training kept him on his knees. That, and the fact he wasn’t sure he could walk with a cock this hard.

Harry looked as gob-smacked as Draco felt. Of course, Draco hid it better. He hoped. Harry’s breath had sucked in before he even steadied on his feet. His eyes drank Draco in and his fist shot to his crotch, squeezing in the universal gesture for _holy fuck, I’m about to come and I don’t want to._

"Is it really him?" Harry breathed. "It’s not polyjuice? Not some kind of glamour?" 

Charlie snorted and grabbed the beers off the table. "If you mean is that really Draco Malfoy, naked and on his knees, ready to suck you off—or anything else you want—then yes. It is." He pressed a bottle into Harry’s hand, some dreadful Muggle ‘light’ ale, which as far as Draco was concerned was an absolute falsehood. The stuff didn’t even glow.

Harry took a gulp without looking at the bottle then put it on the table. His swallow was a little harder than necessary, Draco noticed. Like he had a watering mouthful of saliva to force down with the beer.

"There’s no way Malfoy is into this." Harry gestured toward him, taking Draco in from his submissively bowed head to his bare-assed bum. "Him? A slave? No way."

Draco tossed his head but kept his mouth shut. It was obvious why this was his kink. It was a standard tenet of psychology, no less, so there was no reason for him to feel embarrassed. The things you fear most are often eroticized, made conquerable by desire—all the textbooks he’d read trying to understand himself had said so.

To be precise, Father had raised him to fear being humiliated by other men, to never permit Draco to lose face or be controlled. So of course, this was what he ended up craving. It was just the subconscious taking a real fear and taming it by turning it into fantasy. Honestly. Didn’t they have any training in psychology in Auror school?

Charlie put his beer down, came over and casually grabbed Draco’s hair. "Yes, he’s a slave. My slave." He roughly yanked Draco’s head up to meet Potter’s eyes. "You’ll have plenty of time to see how much he likes it. Don’t worry about that."

Green eyes stared into his, mouth gaping unattractively. "But he’s, you know, so competent. In control. I see him at work all the time."

A little warmth crept into Draco’s belly, easing the fear. Potter thought he was competent and in control. Which he was—he was a damn good barrister. At least something good had come out of all of Father’s trouble with the law. Draco’d spent plenty of time in chambers before he ever even graduated.

Charlie seemed amused. His fingers twisted in Draco’s hair, hard enough to hurt, just the way he liked. "Wanting to submit sexually doesn’t mean you’re a pushover in the rest of your life. Draco is a fine barrister and he’s _also_ an absolute champ at taking it up the arse. Aren’t you pet?" he said as his hand twisted ever more cruelly. "Those things aren’t mutually exclusive."

"I know. I mean, of course. Right." Harry moved closer, ghosting almost into touching range. He looked like he itched to fondle. Or maybe just throw Draco down and ravish him. "It just surprised me."

Draco rolled his eyes and found his voice. "What? Are you going to take House points, Potter? Ten points from Slytherin for not being a top?"

Harry looked shocked. "Is he allowed to do that? Talk back like that?"

"Of course," Charlie said. "It’s one of the things I love about him." His fist turned to iron in Draco’s hair and all of a sudden he was dragging Draco down by the hair, his body following until he lay sprawled in front of Harry. "He just has to pay the price for it."

"Kiss his feet and say you’re sorry, Draco," Charlie added, his voice low and firm. His other hand pressed firmly on Draco’s back, fingers spread, implacable.

Fuck. He couldn’t. Potter’s feet? Potter’s ratty trainers? Panic surged inside him. He really actually couldn’t do this. It was too much. This was humiliation times a thousand, every teenage fear—and fantasy, let’s face it—come to life. He could barely stand Charlie knowing what he craved, let alone Potter.

Charlie’s hand soothed him, rubbing small circles on his back even as it held him down. He always did know what Draco needed. He felt his panting ease, felt the sharp edge of panic recede. He could just stay here, face down, not moving. Eventually Potter would go away, right?

The trainer moved toward him. Potter’s foot nudged his face. Prat. Draco would have guessed Potter would back off. Run away at the first hint of real domination. Instead he was moving into the scene.

Potter sank down, steadying himself with a hand in Draco’s hair, taking the place of Charlie’s. He leaned forward and whispered in Draco’s ear. "Come on. You can do it. It would please me so much if you did."

Ahhh, fuck. Those words, that tone. Draco’s hips snapped forward involuntarily, rubbing his cock into the floor. He wanted to—no he didn’t, he couldn’t—

"Come on, Malfoy," Potter said again. "I don’t think any less of you for wanting this. You know I want it too. Start with just one kiss, okay?" His hand lifted Draco by the hair. The trainer eased gently beneath his face.

Before he could think twice, Draco kissed it. If you could even call it a kiss, he rationalized. It was more just hiding his face again, with his lips down, in the direction of the shoe. He couldn’t even move away, not with Charlie pinning him with a strength more used to Hungarian horntails than English barristers. And okay, Draco’s lips did move, forming what might be called a kiss, but it wasn’t like either of them could see that, or like Potter could feel it through the shoe.

"One more," Potter said. His hand ran through Draco’s hair, sending sparks all the way down to his groin. Draco fucking loved hands in his hair. "Come on, give it another kiss and add a little lick this time."

Draco trembled, loving that voice and hating it all at once, but he didn’t want Potter watching him tremble—better to see him licking the bastard’s shoe instead. He kissed again, more firmly this time, then added a quick lick.

It tasted—well, not quite as vile as he would have expected. "If I die from some shoe-borne illness, I’m going to come back and haunt you, Potter," he muttered.

Potter snickered. "If they were going to kill anyone, I’m sure I’d be dead by now." His tone stayed light but the firmness was back as he said, "now do it again. Put your tongue on it and keep it there until I say you can take it off."

Draco whimpered—a wretched sound he’d often wished he couldn’t make—but his tongue was already moving before he could try to stop it. There was a white front part of the shoe, rubbery in texture, and he turned his head and laid his tongue flat on it, like it was ice cream just waiting for a lick.

"Good boy," Charlie said, easing up a little on the pressure. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?"

He ignored that, because yes, maybe it was that bad. Or that good, if his cock was the one who got to answer. It certainly seemed to approve of this turn of events. Anyway, fine, he’d done it. He waited, impatience growing. Did the idiot boy forget he had to tell Draco when to stop?

Drool began to gather, trickling out of his mouth and over the rubber. Draco flicked his eyes up but he couldn’t see Potter’s face from this position. He could see his crotch, however, and judging by the massive bulge, Potter was both completely aware of what he was doing and also, frankly, hung.

"Okay, that’s enough," Potter said, after the string of drool had just about reached the floor and the taste of trainer had sunk deep into his tongue. "Lick all that up and you’re done."

He cringed inside but he licked. He swiped the rubber clean and sucked the drool back in and told himself he wasn’t being obedient so much as he was hiding the evidence. He couldn’t stand to see his spit on Potter’s shoe all night.

Charlie’s hand lifted off his back and strong hands hauled him back up onto his knees. "See how much more fun the feisty ones are? They’re a little more intimidating to the inexperienced dom, I’ll give you that—this one’ll keep you on your toes all right—but if I wanted a dog, I’d buy one."

"I like it too," Potter admitted, with a smile that went right past Draco and straight to Charlie. They were fucking bonding over making him suck on Potter’s shoe. Arseholes, both of them.

"You handled him well. Better than I expected for a novice," Charlie said, continuing the mutual admiration club in which Draco apparently had a starring role as the pet, or maybe the inanimate object.

He didn’t have much time to pout about that though—Charlie was already tapping Draco’s waist, signaling him to take the proper floor position again. He snapped into it blushingly fast--arms back, knees wide, bollocks ready for handling--revealing more training than he could bear for Potter to see. He couldn’t help it though. Charlie had drilled him hard and long on his positions, absolutely merciless when it came to hesitation or mistake. Hell, _dragons_ obeyed the damn man. It wasn’t his fault if his body listened too.

"Here," Charlie said, tapping his right arse cheek with the signal that sent Draco straight into his standing position: legs wide, shoulders back, arms up and crossed parallel just below his shoulder-blades. "Go on and take him into the bathroom. Get that mouth washed out before we use it. You handle him just fine."

Potter had risen too, along with Charlie. His gaze was avid and he ran a hand down Draco’s front, from pecs to abs. "He’s more cut than I would have thought. Would have guessed he’d be softer beneath those fancy robes."

Charlie had unlocked a drawer—oh crap, not _that_ drawer—and pulled something out. "Yeah," he said as he turned and came back. "He was thin but soft when I got him. I put him on a strict exercise regime. He bitches and moans like I’m gutting him with dull shears each time I work him out, but I like the results."

Draco’s face flamed, partly from the way they were talking about him and partly from what he knew was coming next. Sure enough, it was the gossamer net bag that he’d worn for months straight in training and Charlie still used, except when Draco was in position or actively being fucked. And sometimes even then.

"What’s that?" Potter leaned in to look.

"Charmed ball harness." Charlie grabbed Draco’s sack, pulling it forward with a practiced hand. "Tightens at a gesture. Excellent control device." He stuffed Draco’s bollocks into it one by one, ignoring his muffled meep of protest. "General principle we use at work--no matter how tame you think they are, don’t move them around without some kind of leash."

"May I?" 

At Charlie’s nod, Potter reached out and stroked his bollocks. The gossamer didn’t diminish sensation—if anything, it heightened it. Pain and pleasure both. 

"The gesture’s this." Charlie flicked his hand in a simple sign, ending in a loose fist. "The more you close your fist, the smaller the harness gets. Like this." 

Charlie tightened his fist, just like he was squeezing a piece of fruit. The gossamer contracted, suddenly painfully tight. Draco yelped, but as fast as the sensation had come, the harness relaxed again, in time with Charlie’s fist. 

"Don’t worry, you can make it hurt, but it won’t compress enough to damage. You try it now," Charlie said. "Though it’s spelled to me, so you might need your wand—"

Harry made the sign and squeezed. Draco yelped again as the harness shrank to a hard clutch on his bollocks, releasing only at the next gesture from Potter.

"Good with wandless magic, then," Charlie said with a nod. "That’s helpful for this kind of thing."

Of course the Chosen One was good with wandless magic, Draco thought sullenly. Wasn’t the Chosen One good at everything? And now the Chosen One had Draco’s bollocks quite literally in a clamp and was going to spend the rest of the evening teaching him to obey. His life officially sucked he assured his cock, which defiantly refused to agree. It was loving this, sick little organ that it was.

"Nice," Potter was saying. "I like it. Is there anything else you ever use?"

Oh bloody hell, no. Draco dearly wanted to shift in position, stamp his foot, something. Charlie headed back to the drawer with the pleasure of a man who’d found someone who could really appreciate the tools of the trade. Draco knew what was coming and he hated this one. 

"Here," said Charlie, coming back holding up a small metal clip with an attached ring. "This is really nice for training as well as other situations where you want to maintain strict control."

Harry took it with a gleam in his eye, examining it closely. "Is it for the nipple?"

Charlie shook his head. "Nope, though I have plenty of those, some for fun, some for control, some for the odd spot of nipple torture." He took the ringed clip back. "This one goes here." 

He moved into Draco’s space and Draco willed himself not to step back. He really, really hated this little thing. Charlie knew it too—he wrapped a thick hand around the back of Draco’s neck and lifted the clip so fast Draco couldn’t have reacted if he wanted to. It went up into his nose before he could so much as protest and his eyes watered hard at the sudden pain in such a sensitive place. Then the clip snapped in, pinching the tender septum. The ring hung down, swaying just above his upper lip, and Charlie clicked his lead onto it and moved back. Crap, crap, crap. This was bad.

"Here you go," Charlie said, handing the end of the long leather strap to Potter. "He’ll be nice and docile with his leash on."

Potter grinned and gave a little tug to the leash. Pain seared outward from the oh-so-delicate center of his face. He cried out, helplessly loud, but he didn’t move. A tear slipped free from his watering eye and balanced on his cheek.

Charlie grimaced. "Wait, sorry, forgot to tell you to release him from position first. He’s not allowed to move until you give him the signal."

Potter’s hand shot up and he chucked Draco’s chin, then brushed the tear away. "Sorry, Malfoy. Didn’t mean to hurt you. Wait," he said, turning to Charlie, "is it all right to apologize to a slave? That’s not bad form, is it?"

Charlie tapped Draco’s shoulder with the release signal and Draco stepped forward with a shiver. His every nerve was attuned to the next signal from the leash, determined to avoid that pain again. Which was, of course, why it worked so well. 

"No, of course not," Charlie said. "I make mistakes—everyone does—and I let him know I’m sorry. There’s no sense pretending to be perfect. It’s a lie and lies kill the trust that’s crucial for this. It’s good instinct to apologize, admit it, and then try not to do it again."

Potter looked relieved. "Good. So, er, I should just take him to the bathroom and clean him up?"

Charlie waved them on. "Yep. Just his mouth really, unless you feel like scrubbing him down a bit. I gave him a good hosing earlier so he doesn’t need it."

Potter licked his lips and pulled gently on the leash, stepping backwards. "Where?" he asked, looking around.

"Over there. Second door in the hallway," Charlie said. "Draco knows where it is, of course, but don’t let him lead the way. He has to follow when he’s leashed."

Potter headed into the hallway, watching Draco over his shoulder and moving slowly enough that he could easily keep up. His septum had adjusted to the pressure and it was no more than a low background throb, warning him to stay obedient. Even a little flick of the lead could hurt. Potter opened a door—idiot, that was the first one, not the second—and found the bedroom. A quick glance around then he closed the door again and took them on to the second one. 

"Ah, here we go," Potter said, taking them into the nice-sized bathroom. 

Charlie wasn’t much for fancy flats but this was his indulgence. He needed more than just a little shower after all. He needed space to--as Draco oh so wished he hadn’t let slip—hose his slave down. It was a dragon tamer thing, he supposed. Teach a man to clean things with a powered nozzle and he just couldn’t resist applying it to everything.

"Oh," said Potter as he took in the hosing area as well as the more normal shower etcetera. His eyes lingered on the rings set into the walls at a variety of convenient heights and locations. "Those are for hitching, I suppose?"

Draco nodded yes, not trusting his voice.

"Well, come on then. What’s the signal for kneeling? I want you down on that rug while I clean your mouth."

Draco put a hand on his own shoulder, the right one, and indicated a push down. Harry licked his lips and stepped close and Draco was suddenly so very aware of how naked he was, and how clothed was Harry.

"Can I touch you?" Harry asked, not tentative at all. Just looking for information.

"Any way you like," Draco answered, "and anywhere. I’m sure Charlie told you that." There were contractual limits of course, bans on ridiculously extreme things like mutilation, non-negotiated permanent marks—Draco had a particular sensitivity to that, no need to ask why—and various other things, but that wasn’t what Harry was checking on. "If you mean, can you throw me over the counter and arse fuck me dry, then of course."

"Do you want me to do that?’ Harry moved even closer, still holding the lead carefully, but close enough now to just barely touch. 

"No," Draco said, with the honesty that Charlie had lovingly beaten into him. "I hate being fucked dry."

"But you don’t mind me fucking you? I need to know. Do you want me to fuck you?"

Oh. Potter was afraid that Draco didn’t want him but wouldn’t say so in front of Charlie. It warmed him with a sudden heat that started in his belly, that Potter cared enough to make completely sure. "I want you," hoping his voice didn’t crack. "I promise."

"Good then. We’ll save the fucking for later, with Charlie, but I needed a truthful answer to that while we were alone." Potter leaned forward and pressed a little kiss on Draco’s mouth—shockingly innocent, startlingly hot—and smartly tapped him on the shoulder. 

Draco sank automatically into position, kneeling on the rug, back straight, legs wide, bollocks vulnerable. Potter squatted down with him and squinted at the leash, clearly realizing after a moment that there were two separate cords to it. He pulled one back over Draco’s right cheek and one over his left, just as they were supposed to go, and fastened them to the ring at the level of the nape of Draco’s neck. There was enough give that he could move his head a little, but not anywhere near enough to stand up, or even lean forward much.

"There," Potter said with satisfaction. "Now let’s clean that filthy mouth of yours."

"If it’s filthy, it’s only because of the wretched state of your shoe," Draco said. Which he probably shouldn’t have.

Potter just laughed. He stood up and turned to the sink, seizing a couple of things then squatting back down again in front of Draco. "Here we go. I’ve got what we need. Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me."

Draco eyed the bottle in Harry’s hand dubiously but opened as ordered, putting his tongue out as far as he could. Maybe Harry would be so impressed with his lingual extension that they’d move straight on to blow jobs and forget whatever awful thing he currently had planned.

No such luck. Harry took the top off the liquid soap dispenser and poured a little in a tiny cup. Then he pulled a swab out of a container marked Q-tips—another ridiculous Muggle name as there was nothing Q-ish about them. He dipped the Q-tip in the soap and before Draco could even realize what was going to happen, Harry had dragged it across the tip of his tongue.

Draco sputtered, trying hard not to move his head. It tasted terrible. Worse than the shoe, in fact. He kept his tongue out with an effort and Harry dipped the swab back in the soap, pulling it out with a fat blob on the end. 

"Here we go," Harry said cheerfully and rubbed it across the middle of Draco’s tongue. Suds were starting to form and the taste intensified—bitter detergent overlaid with scenty lavender. Harry dipped again and swiped a heavy glob again onto the middle then pushed it further and further back, laving at the back of the tongue.

Draco’s eyes watered. He gagged and bucked. The nose clamp pulled tight as his head came forward and he sobbed aloud, pulling his tongue in. A bubble escaped from his open mouth, floating by eyes so watery the world wavered. "I’m sorry." Draco hated failing. "I couldn’t keep my tongue out."

"Are you doing your best?" Harry asked softly.

Draco swallowed, which was a mistake as soap trickled down his throat. "Yes."

"Well that’s all right then," Harry said. "I plan on being thorough—you should know that—but we’ll do it at a pace you can manage. Would it help if I held your head still?" 

"It would," Draco admitted, feeling that he should be able to hold still himself—he was well-trained, dammit, but knowing he needed it. He couldn’t take another jolt to the nose. 

Harry gripped Draco’s jaw and pressed his head back to the wall. "Open for me."

Draco opened his mouth and put his tongue back out. Harry scooped up more soap, methodically spreading it down the right side of the tongue, then the left. He let Draco pull his tongue back in and rest a moment when he needed, though each time he closed his mouth the bubbles increased, until they were spilling out down his chin. Then Harry returned to the back of the tongue, layering the soap on carefully in an even coating, 

"You’re hard as a rock, you know that right?" Harry said with a little smile as he pushed the swab all the way back, waiting for the gag, holding Draco’s head tight through it. "Good boy, by the way. You’re doing wonderfully. Nearly done with the tongue."

Draco sobbed through the gagging sensation, feeling snot dribble from his nose. Harry noticed too, took a different swab, and gently wiped it off. Then he took another and rubbed it across the base of the clamp, hesitated, then kept going, running it all the way up the length of the clamp inside Draco’s nose. Draco tensed but it didn’t hurt—it was more the invasion, the helplessness of it. That familiar feeling of warm submission swelled in him as Harry pulled the swab back down then up proceeded up the other nostril, lingering there, drinking in the emotion on his face.

He could feel himself giving over to Harry’s curious touch. Submitting, letting him have his way, taking whatever sensation Harry wanted him to have. His cock throbbed and he could feel it bobbing in empty air, desperate for a touch, even a cruel one. 

"Now for the teeth." Harry had taken the nasal swab away but the relief of that was short-lived.  
Draco’s tongue was thickly soaped. He’d thought it was nearly over—

No. Harry had more soap and he started rubbing a new blasted swab all along the bottom row of his teeth, left to right, going back for more whenever the layer even slightly thinned. Gums too, then the top, left to right, and the inside as well as the outside, top and bottom.

Then he fucking started on the inside of Draco’s cheeks, more fucking soap, overwhelming his senses, taste and smell both, making him feel like he’d fallen mouth-first into some strange lavender-foam world. When the bubbles grew too thick, Harry made him open his mouth and drool them out, soapy ropes that twisted down his chin and dripped to his chest and stomach. Then the palate at the top, another fine layer that clung in such a way that very little went down his throat, thank goodness, but made his mouth feel alien and thick.

Finally Harry stopped, surveyed his work, and announced that he had cleaned every surface. His grip was still firm on Draco’s chin, mercifully preventing the nose pulls he would otherwise have suffered. 

"Fucking Auror," Draco managed, slurring a little with his newly thick tongue. "You didn’t have to be this thorough."

A wicked look came into Harry’s eye. At least Draco thought it did—his vision was still watery. 

"I want something more from you." Harry stood up and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down along with his pants. "Sorry, but you’re just too delicious with that soap-coated mouth. I keep thinking how smooth it’ll feel—"

He wouldn’t—

He was. Draco felt a push at his lips and opened them automatically, letting Harry’s cock glide in. It slid across his slippery tongue and Harry groaned, deep and heartfelt. 

"Fuck, Draco. Fuck, fuck, you feel so good." Harry’s hands came back, one on either side of his head, steadying him, then his face was being fucked with shallow thrusts. 

Draco groaned and shuddered as Harry’s cock pushed a little soap down his throat. It hit the back of his throat erratically, making him gag, making his throat spasm around the invader. It didn’t take long ‘til he was back to sobbing, feeling overwhelmed, feeling used, feeling like the slightest touch on his cock would set off a release he wasn’t permitted. That feeling grew as Harry moaned and stilled, forcing himself, slippery and bitter and lavender-scented, deep into Draco’s throat.

The first pulse shot straight down his throat and Harry cried out, hands holding Draco’s head so tight it hurt, making sure he controlled the angle to perfection. He pulled back with the second spurt, making sure he came all over Draco’s tongue, making sure the taste of Harry would mingle with the soap, and drip together down his throat. Then another thick spurt as Harry rubbed himself shamelessly on Draco’s tongue, shuddering out the end of his pleasure, helpless now that orgasm was on him.

Then Harry had finished but he didn’t take his cock out, not immediately. He ruffled Draco’s hair instead and watched as Draco sucked in panting breaths through his aching nose.

"Merlin, you’re so beautiful like this," Harry said.

Draco almost laughed. Beautiful? With suds still dripping down his chin? And probably come too? 

But Harry looked so sincere and when he leaned down and kissed him, its truth was clear. "I have wanted this forever," Harry said in barely more than a whisper as he untied the leash’s cords. "Thank you for giving this to me."

*

Soon they were back in the living room. Not right away, of course. Harry, bastard that he was, had decided he couldn’t take Draco back with a come-filled mouth after he’d promised to clean him out. So he’d gotten a fizzy little soap ball, stood Draco over the sink, and popped it into his mouth. Then he gave him glass after glass of water, making him swish until it foamed, then spit it out and do it again. Time after time until the fucking little ball was gone. Then Harry had washed Draco’s face, cleaning off the tear tracks, and washed the spit and soap from the rest of his body too, with almost reverent hands. 

"Is that filthy mouth clean now?" Charlie asked when he was back in standing position in the living room. 

"It has never been cleaner," Draco answered honestly. "It will never be cleaner. That bastard basically made me deep throat your liquid soap dispenser. If you want to kill him, I’ll help you hide the body."

Charlie laughed and kissed him. "So a good time was had by all, I see. Glad to hear it. You’re not done, of course, not close to it. We’re going to ride your arse harder than you’ve ever had it and if you don’t satisfy, I’ll put you outside the door with a sign telling the neighbors to fuck you too. How does that sound for a plan?" he asked, turning to Harry. 

Harry, who was kicked back on the sofa, looking utterly comfortable, grinned. "Look at him. He’s still hard and dripping, just like he was the whole way through. Better be careful he doesn’t run off with your detergent—I think he’s got a taste for it now."

Indignation flared through Draco. He’d hated every minute of it. It wasn’t his fault his insane cock disagreed. And now there they were, laughing at him, and Harry would always be able to picture him teary-eyed and spitting soap. And Merlin, they weren’t even done. He could barely look Harry in the eye now. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like by morning, when they’d really put him through his paces. 

"First, though," Charlie said, heading back to the sofa and picking up his beer. "Let’s talk about slaves and contracts and all of that. You’ve got to have some questions."

"Yeah, I do actually," Potter said. "Such as, how does work figure into it? He obviously doesn’t act like a slave there. And what if you want something he doesn’t? Or the other way around? What if one of you wants to end it?"

"Good questions." Charlie dropped to the other end of the sofa and snapped his fingers. "To me, pet."

Draco dropped to his knees at once and crawled over, not meeting Potter’s eyes. At least Charlie kept his rooms well-supplied with rugs. It was only his pride that hurt, not his kneecaps. 

"First of all, the contract ends anytime either of us wants it to. I won’t keep an unconsenting slave and even if he wants to stay, if I find the perfect match for him, I’ll try to get it for him."

Draco’s heart sped up as a thought entered his head. Did Charlie think—was Potter a perfect match for him?—not that he wanted to leave Charlie—but submitting to Potter was so fucking intense—

Not that it mattered if Potter was perfect for him. It didn’t mean he was perfect for Potter or that the Chosen One would want a dark-marked ex-rotter like him. Plus, this was practically Potter’s first experience with these things. He’d want to look around, find some shining specimen of manhood without a painful past. Though Potter had to have seen the faded mark on his arm in the bathroom and he hadn’t made an issue of it—

"Next, the contract stipulates that nothing happens which would interfere with either of our jobs. No requiring anything—on either of our parts—which would negatively impact work. Also, no revealing details to people who aren’t both trustworthy and equally deep into this. Etcetera."

Harry nodded. "Thank you for trusting me with this, by the way."

At a snap of Charlie’s fingers, Draco eased into the space between his legs, as trained, then looked up, waiting for the nod. When he got it, he undid Charlie’s jeans and pulled his pants down, setting his hard cock free.

Draco pressed his lips to Charlie’s bollocks in the required waiting position and wondered idly which Father would hate more—the amount of time Draco spent sucking Weasley cock or the amount of time he spent with his face pressed to Muggle denim. Though both probably paled before bowing and scraping to Harry Fucking Potter, so he’d probably hit a new aneurysm-inducing low tonight, if Father ever found out. 

The deepest, most honest part of himself admitted he bloody loved the thought. 

"As for needs, I find it’s crucial to know what drives the submissive. For myself, I’ve got broad tastes. I can find something that excites me with most subs. If I have one thing I love most, though, it’s slave training." Charlie’s hand rested on Draco’s shoulder, warm and comforting. "I like working them hard and having an ongoing relationship, especially with a smart and challenging boy like this." 

"What, er, drives Malfoy?" Potter took a quick, almost nervous swig of his beer.

"Oh that’s easy. Fuck with his dignity and fuck his arse and you’ll meet ninety-nine percent of this sweetie’s needs." Charlie laughed even as Draco’s face burned hot. "As for finding out what a slave really wants, I’ve found it’s best to be absolutely sure. I use Veritaserum."

Potter choked on his next swallow. "You Veritaserumed Malfoy? And asked about what he wants in bed and why and what he’s already done and everything like that?" He was trying for disapproving but what came out was pure green jealousy.

Charlie shrugged. "It’s not illegal, not if the subject is consenting. A bit pricey, but worth it if you’re going to do something as intense as taking a slave. I wouldn’t use it for a casual sub-type situation, but the responsibility is so much greater when you own." He pushed his cock down, offering it to Draco’s mouth. "They want to please you, you know? That makes it hard for them to tell you the truth about what they really need if they think you won’t like it."

"What about—" Potter’s voice grew a little husky, "er, punishments. How does that work?"

Draco set to work on Charlie’s cock, starting with a long lick from bollocks to head as he’d been taught. Charlie sighed happily and spread his legs.

"If you mean beatings, everything from spanking to whipping, well I don’t necessarily use those as punishments. You get a pet with a masochistic streak like this one here"—a rub to the back of his neck as Draco delicately laved the vein beneath the head, "—and you risk confusing them. You can end up teaching them to behave badly to get the paddling they want. You have to make sure that a punishment is genuinely something they don’t want if you mean to condition their behavior."

"Does Malfoy," Potter’s voice was definitely heading into husky need territory here, "er, like paddling, then? And whipping, and, er, things like that?" 

Charlie groaned and shoved his cock in Draco’s mouth, pulling him down until his face was deep in Charlie’s curls. Draco’s nose tickled but he didn’t ease back even a fraction. He kept his tongue working against the cock inside his mouth the whole time. 

"Yeah," Charlie said, "if it’s done right." His hand rested gently on the back of Draco’s neck, a subtle reminder that he wasn’t to pull back until the signal came. Draco sucked in breath through his nose, starting to pant. "You want to see?"

"Er, yes? If you don’t mind, that is."

Charlie tapped his neck and Draco pulled off as gracefully as he could, resisting the urge to wipe his face on Charlie’s pants. That would get him the genuine type of punishment, not the fun over the knee type.

"Jump to it and get everything from the top drawer over there. Bring it all over and lay them out on the table for us." Charlie turned to Potter. "I’ll just show you some of his favorite toys, let you try a few out."

Draco trembled inside. There were some things in the drawer that he loved and some things that he hated. He wasn’t sure which he’d rather Potter found out about. It was so raw, having his dirty little needs laid out on a table and talked about, over his head no less. Protesting would only make it worse, though, so he crawled as fast as he could to the drawer and started bringing everything over. Clamps and clips and tight-bundled ropes he carried in his hands, as taught, awkwardly crabwalking on his knees. Paddles and canes and whips he brought one at a time in his mouth, as required, careful to keep his teeth from marking them, laying them out on the table as instructed. 

"There are different types of devices. This one here is meant more for training than punishment, for example." Charlie picked up a curved rubber clip after the table was decently covered with representative sample of Draco’s stupid sub-conscious’s wants. "This one goes on the end of the tongue." Charlie tapped his finger on Draco’s lips and Draco opened at once. 

Not the fucking tongue again, he thought, though he supposed they might as well make good use of it now that he was literally squeaky clean. 

Charlie slipped the bulky clip on the end of his tongue. "See how it’s too big for him to pull his tongue back into his mouth? It’s heavy too, drags the tip down as far as it’ll go."

Draco would have agreed, if he could have made more than a squeaky eep. 

"It’s for oral training, you see. You get full use of the tongue even if they won’t cooperate." Charlie pulled him down and rubbed his cock back and forth across Draco’s clipped tongue, grunting with pleasure as he did. "They quickly learn it’s easier to give an eager suck, work the tongue themselves than wear something like this. Top gets the pleasure either way." 

Charlie let him up and Harry reached for him almost unconsciously, eyes alight. "Can I?"

"Sure," Charlie said, pushing him over hard enough that he practically fell face first into Harry’s quickly unzipped lap. 

Harry grabbed him, a little rough in his eagerness, rolling his cock across Draco’s tongue, back and forth fast, hard again and leaking pre-come. "Enough," he said with a final grunt, pulling Draco up by the hair and tugging the clip off. "I think I like that a little too much."

"So get one," Charlie said with the kind of eye-crinkling smile that said he might have been talking about the clip and he might have been talking about the slave. 

"What about those, er, paddles?" Harry pointed to a leather rectangle attached to a small handle. 

Ignorant git. That was a slapper, not a paddle. Draco felt pleasantly superior. 

"Yeah, he likes that one." Charlie reached out and grabbed it, then hauled Draco over his knee, arse up, legs wide and braced. He scooted along, moving them both until there was room for Draco to bury his face in the sofa cushions. "Really makes him wiggle, this one." 

_Don’t tell Potter what I like_ , Draco wanted to whine. _It’s embaaaaaarrassing._ That would only make Charlie roar with laughter, though, and probably double the number of slapper smacks. Which, he’d also like to point out, he didn’t really like. It hurt. The fact that the sensation also went straight to his cock and made him beg and plead to come was neither here nor there. 

Then the first smack was falling. Draco jerked and pressed his face into the cushion, muffling his yip. Then another on the other cheek and Charlie was maneuvering him, getting him into position for a nice long arse-reddening.

The slapper fell again and again, alternating cheeks, placement shifting slightly each time, smacking across the top, then starting in below and following the same. Charlie believed in a nice uniform beating. There wouldn’t be a single inch of his arse and upper thighs that wasn’t blazing red by the time he finished. And that was just this one implement. Charlie never stopped with one and tonight of all nights he’d want to show off all his toys, let Potter see which ones made him squeal and which ones made his cock leak and which ones made him cry and beg for mercy.

Panic gripped him again, just as it had when Potter had first arrived. He knew what Charlie could do to him. He’d done it before, time and again, methodically reducing Draco to a sniveling, shivering slave, pathetically eager to please. Willing to say anything, do anything to make Charlie happy. Not broken—revealed. That was what he couldn’t stand for Potter to see. Not that Charlie could force him to act the slave, but that Draco wouldn’t be able to hide that he loved it.

His heart was beating wildly, almost erratically. Charlie felt it, he was sure, and his other hand came to rest at the small of his back, steadying him. It wasn’t enough this time—

Wait. Charlie was moving him? One minute he was over Charlie’s lap the next Charlie was manhandling him into the air, settling him on the table, now cleared of toys. 

The table transfigured under him—before he could even register the wood beneath his cheek, it had reformed itself into Charlie’s favorite whipping block. It was low to the ground and firm beneath his belly and chest. It forced his legs apart so he was straddling it and ropes whipped out, binding his legs to the block, leaving his arse and bollocks dreadfully exposed. Ties snaked up from the front too, seizing his wrists and pulling him tight across the block, leaving him just enough slack to struggle and heave without having the faintest chance of avoiding a single blow.

He shuddered with relief. It was, paradoxically, so much easier to take his beating this way. The other, over Charlie’s lap, just lying there and taking it--enjoying it—he couldn’t bear to be so pitiful in front of Potter. There was no question now of being able to get away. No voice that sounded like Father yelling in the back of his mind, telling him to stand up and sneer and posture and deny, deny, deny that he wanted any part of this.

A hand touched his bollocks and he jumped.

"Just making sure nothing’s getting pinched here." The fingers stroked soothingly across the gossamer of the ball harness.

That was Potter’s voice and that must be Potter’s fingers, now easing underneath him and moving Draco’s cock into a more comfortable position. A tingle of transfiguration followed and the block beneath his cock became a little plusher and a little slick with oil, perfect for rubbing against. 

"Shush," Potter said, with a final swipe across Draco’s bollocks. "Not going to hurt you."

"Actually," Charlie said with amusement in his voice. "We are. A lot."

Potter snorted, close enough that Draco could feel the puff of air against his arse. "True."

Draco swallowed hard and closed his eyes, his face turned to one side, cheek pressed to the wood. 

"There’s a ring there, do you see it?" Charlie must be pointing. "Can you snap that onto his harness, secure his bollocks for me? Don’t want them flopping in the way when I’m blistering his arse."

Potter fiddled with something by Draco’s balls, tickling him a little inadvertently, but he knew what Potter was looking for. Charlie’s blocks always had a ring there and sure enough, a moment later Potter found it and snapped it over the top of his sack. Restraint device and cock ring all in one. Oh joy, what a marvelous design.

The hands left him and silence fell, as if they both stepped back to appreciate his utter helplessness. Then Charlie’s hand slapped his arse, in that friendly-hard way of his, and he came round to the front of the block.

"Look at me, pet," Charlie commanded.

Draco lifted his head. His heart was beating fast again but only in anticipation--the maddening panic he’d felt before had vanished. A squirmingly grateful feeling for Charlie’s intuition shot through him, an urge to grovel and beg and offer anything. He opened his eyes, slowly. Charlie stood in front of him, hands on the buckle of his belt.

Draco’s mouth went dry. He fucking loved the belt. Charlie unbuckled as casually as if he were alone, then oh so slowly drew the thick belt out, loop by loop. The rich scent of leather hit him, wrapping him in the promise of pain and pleasure and the sweet release that submission always brought.

Charlie doubled it up as a little smile played across his lips. He held it out to Draco, nonchalantly accepting the required kiss, then moved behind him, out of sight. Draco tensed. 

"You haven’t used one of these before, right?" Charlie asked, probably letting Potter take a good look at the implement that was going to make his old school rival weep. 

A laugh. "Only to hold up my pants."

A finger ran down his crack, dipping into his hole in passing, making a spark run up his spine. It wasn’t as broad or as work-roughened as Charlie’s—had to be Potter’s. It came back and flicked his arsehole, pushed in and gave a little wiggle. Draco licked his lips but held absolutely still. He wanted more of that flaring pleasure but he hated to admit it. The hand pulled away and Draco refused to look back, to give Potter the satisfaction of knowing just how badly he wanted to get fucked. 

Then Potter must have moved because Charlie’s hand came down on his arse with a smack that for anyone else would be as hard as they hit, and for him was just a friendly hello. "Ready, pet?"

Draco let his head drop and braced as best he could.

The first blow came down on his left arse cheek, the leather cracking together as the doubled-length met flesh. Heat flared, almost stronger than the sudden pain that made him cry out. A blow to the other cheek and it was on in earnest, Charlie striping his arse with practiced thoroughness, left to right and back again, top to bottom and all the way down onto his thighs. He rocked, driven forward with the force of each blow, hard and fast enough that his bollocks were pulled up to the ring, stretched, an agony added just as the intense pain of leather meeting skin had faded.

He clutched the block, gripping it with thighs and arms, molding himself to it. Charlie was striping down the outside of his legs now. The skin was tougher there but the blows were all the harder for it, not diminishing the slightest. A low continuous moan was coming from his mouth now and he couldn’t stop it. It didn’t help that with each blow his cock slipped through that damn oil of Potter’s, forcing a pleasure that peaked just as his bollocks screamed from the stretch. He started panting and still the blows kept coming. 

A hand lifted his face, gripping his chin to keep it up. Green irises, each a thin bright ring around pupils black and dilated, drank him in--concerned and avid in equal measures. 

"Fuck," Potter breathed, loosing a whiff of mint across Draco’s face. 

He almost laughed at the sudden odd sweetness of it. Harry must have taken a moment to freshen his breath with a charm. Merlin knows you wouldn’t want the man whose savage beating you were enjoying to be bothered by the odor of cheap ale.

At least he didn’t have to worry about his own breath, Draco thought. His mouth would smell of soap and lavender forever. 

A hard blow caught Draco right across the back of his thighs, dragging him back into the moment. The next one cracked before he could catch his breath and he cried out, head jerking back. The pace was picking up, Charlie expertly driving him into a frenzy, knowing the precise speed to turn his world into nothing but pain and reaction. Another blow, this one licking around the curve of one leg, nearly enough to catch the bottom of his bollocks. He clawed forward, crying out and a mouth met his. A hot tongue pushed past his lips. 

Potter’s mouth, Potter’s tongue. His hand wrapped the back of Draco’s head, keeping him in place as Potter raped his mouth. The blows never eased for a moment and he was crying now and babbling _please, please_ even as Potter’s tongue twisted around his, sucking in his cries. 

Then Potter was scrabbling at his flies, unzipping with one hand while the other stayed wrapped around Draco’s head, keeping their mouths pressed tight. He pushed his pants down next and Draco’s eagerness to see the goods was nearly enough to distract him from the next crackling thud against his backside.

Crap, he couldn’t see it—Potter’s tongue was relentless, and Merlin, it was fantastic, but he couldn’t see past their twisting tongues to get a look at the goods on offer. Potter’s hand was stuffed down his pants, though, Draco could see that. He was wanking fast and hard, grunting with pleasure with every pained moan Draco made.

Potter, you sick fuck, Draco thought with satisfaction. Potter loved this just as much as he did. 

A snicker came from behind. "Don’t waste it on your hand when there’s a perfectly good arse ready to be fucked," Charlie said, finally pausing in his blows. "Unless you want to come on his face of course."

"Unggghhh," Potter said, in the most artless, heartfelt agreement. "Yeah, I want to fuck him." He stood up, not bothering to stuff himself back in his pants. It looked large but Draco couldn’t quite see—

Well, he guessed he’d measure it out the other way. Inch by inch as it reamed his arse. Hands pulled his arsecheeks even farther apart as Charlie appeared to be giving Potter a guided tour of the Malfoy bum. 

"He’s allowed lube but no prep," Charlie said, tapping firmly on Draco’s arsehole. It puckered, hot and responsive, and they laughed. The bastards. "A little lube on the outside of his hole, at most, then some more on your cock. No stretching him out with fingers first, either. He’s here for your pleasure, not his."

There was a pause—and probably a blush—then Potter said, "I’m big. Are you sure?"

"Yeah, you are," Charlie said, and bugger, Draco wished that he could see. "Nine inches is it? Pretty thick around too. Nice." His hand rubbed circles on Draco’s blistered arse. "Don’t worry about it. He’s a perfect little slut. He can take it."

Charlie’s hand moved and Potter must have stepped up behind him because all of a sudden he felt cold lube smeared on his arsehole. A stingy little dollop. Then there was pressure on his arsehole, steadily increasing, and he sucked in an excited gasp—

"One long slide in too, if you don’t mind." Charlie added. 

The pressure stopped. "It’s just I thought, you know, that I had to work it in bit by bit."

Oh, for fuck’s sake, did Potter need an illustrated tutorial? What part of ‘fuck the slut’ was hard to understand?

"He’s trained for it," Charlie assured him. "He’ll whimper and whine that whole first stroke—and make it slow, please, I want him to feel the burn—but he can take it."

He could feel Potter’s nod, transmitted through hands and cock, and the pressure returned. Draco spread his legs as far as his bonds would let him and felt his arsehole twitch under the weight of Potter’s cock. The push was every bit as slow and steady as Charlie had requested and his arsehole first resisted, twinging against the invader. He groaned, deep and heartfelt, as he was opened further and further, stretched by Potter’s cock. It was fucking big around, the sod hadn’t lied, and Draco struggled, trying to let him in. 

It was too big, he couldn’t do it, not without more lube. A whine escaped his throat but he wasn’t going to beg. He pushed his arse back, trying to open, trying to be good. Potter’s hand stroked down his side, reassuring him but not stopping that infinitesimally slow slide in. That had to be as big around as it came, but no, Potter’s cock opened him a little wider yet. He panted as it slid deeper, roughly tugging at his hole as more and more length entered him.

"It’s too much," he whimpered out finally, as Potter kept pushing in. It felt enormous, it was huge, it was so hard, he’d never had such a big cock in him. "Please, no, I need you to stop or wait just a moment, please."

"You heard Charlie," Potter said, taking hold of Draco’s hips. "You can take me and you will. Cry all you want but you’ll take my whole cock with one thrust."

Draco dropped his head and sobbed. How fucking long was nine inches? It had to all be in already but Potter just kept fucking forward, pulling Draco’s hips back to meet him, stopping him from squirming away. It felt like a fucking iron rod was being shoved up his arse, Potter was that hard.

"Nearly there, you’re so good, see you can take it."

Draco tried, he really did, but he was begging again within a moment, asking for mercy, for just a little fucking time to adjust to the monster being shoved up his arse.

His arsehole rippled further open and he gave a strangled cry. Bollocks nudged against his arse, warm even against the heat of his abused flesh.

"There, I’m just a little wider at the base. That’s it, you’ve got all of me." Potter’s voice was as soothing as his fucking was implacable. Hands stroked down his sides and over his lower back. "I’ll give you that moment now to adjust to me before I ream you out."

Draco shuddered. His cock was harder than ever, twitching in the oil. He was scared, actually scared of this fucking, but he also wanted it so much he could scream. A whimper escaped him and he wasn’t sure what it was for—did he want that thick cock out or did he want to have it rammed in again and again until Potter yelled with release?

Not that it mattered which he wanted. He was getting the fucking no matter what. That thought only stiffened him further. Potter’s hands returned to Draco’s hips and that was all the warning he had—then Potter was pulling out, all the way to the puckering arsehole, and shoving back in again, hard as he liked. 

Draco groaned helplessly. The burn was intense but it was already changing from pain into the overwhelming sensation of a long thick cock taking him all at once. Out again and in again and he could feel sweat beading under his arms. Potter’s too—there was a musk in the air now, a heavy male smell pouring off him—and it made Draco half-wild with need. It made it impossible to forget he was being hard-fucked by cock, that he was being taken and owned and used for another man’s pleasure.

Potter was grunting and moaning too as he rutted—more grunts on the in-thrust, more moans as he pulled out. He rubbed the head in and out of Draco’s arsehole, indulging that sensitive spot on the underside of his prick, then thrusting in for maximum pleasure. Each thrust pushed Draco’s cock through the oil and he let himself sink wantonly into that pleasure, shamelessly rubbing himself off on the whipping block.

Not that he was going to come, of course. That fucking ring held his bollocks down, locked his orgasm away. Just as well. He didn’t want to be punished in front of Harry Fucking Potter for coming without permission. He was good, he was well-trained, and damned if he was going to break that in front of the Boy Who Lived To Actually Fuck Pretty Damn Well.

Potter stiffened. A cruel twisting thrust, using every inch of Draco’s hole then Potter went tense. A long, pained moan came and then he grunted hard and spurted. Draco could feel the come filling his arse, lubing Potter’s cock as he rode his climax out, turning those last few strokes slippery and wet. Potter panted his way through all of them, jerking and shuddering, clutching Draco’s hips as if he’d never let him go. 

Finally, he stopped. Draco was so hard he could have cried. His cock ached with the need to come and his bollocks felt huge and swollen and badly-used. Potter’s cock softened and he pulled out with a happy sigh, then fingered the hole, pushing it open so even more come could leak out and trickle down Draco’s leg. 

"What’s this white stripe?" Potter asked, tracing a line from buttock to buttock. "Did you mean to leave a nice unspanked line right across the middle of his arse? Is it for contrast?"

Draco groaned out loud.

Charlie laughed. "Oh, poor pet," he said, scratching at Draco’s side. "He knows what it means. There’s two more below it too if you take a look, one just at the crease and one across his thighs. You’ll see."

Potter ran a curious finger across the line, then said, "do you have, er, a towel or something? My _Scourgify_ is a little strong—last time I used it to clean up, I think I took the top layer off my cock."

"You don’t need a towel, you’ve got a slave." Charlie was bending over, searching through the implements that had been swept onto the floor. "Go on, he’s trained to clean you up."

Draco’s face burned. He understood doing that for Charlie but for Potter too? His attention was focused on Charlie finding and picking up the cane, though—he had no time to protest before Potter was back in front of him. Not that he would have protested, not when Charlie was heading towards his arse with a cane in his hand. He wasn’t stupid.

Potter held his cock out, a little tentatively, not to mention a little too far away. The prat. How long did he think Draco’s tongue was anyway? He stuck it out as far as he could—see how cooperative he was being, Charlie?—and waited for Potter to get the idea. As in, come a little closer, moron boy.

All the time what he was really thinking was, did Potter like it? Did he appreciate Draco’s pain, did he think Draco was good? That squirming feeling of submission was teetering inside him, ready to flood through and take him over the edge to the place where nothing existed but pleasing the man in front of him. He couldn’t do it, though, unless he knew—did Potter take all that for granted? Or was he, Merlin forbid, thinking that he’d had better? He needed some touch, some reassurance—

He got a cock in the face instead. Draco opened his mouth just as he’d been taught, taking Potter in and gently laving him, cleaning off the spunk. This was the opposite of a blow-job in many ways—he had to take care not to stimulate the already over-sensitive flesh. He looked up, Potter’s softened cock in his mouth, and found green eyes staring down at him.

"Done with that?" Charlie asked. "He’s a good boy but caning does tend to make him scream. Might not want your cock in there." The sound of wood swishing through the air came from behind him.

Draco trembled. He could do this last little bit, he told himself. He’d even like it later when he was floating on a wave of post-scene euphoria but right now fear had seized him. He hated the cane. What was Charlie playing at, to bring it out now?

Potter dropped down in front of him, speaking softly and just for him. "Can you do this? Is it too much?"

"Ahhh," Draco said, a sudden strangled feeling making his throat feel thick. This concern, this sweetness would undo him. The submission was back, overwhelming the fear and he stuttered out, "do you want it? Will it please you? Honest, tell me honestly."

"Of course." Potter let out a shaky sigh. "You deserve honesty. I do want it. I want to see your face when the cane hits and I want to kiss you while you twist and cry. I’m sorry but I do."

Draco stared at him, taking in the guilt on Potter’s face. That admission had cost him. Charlie had said earlier that their guest tonight was new to this, was struggling with shame over his desires. Draco leaned forward, stretching himself a little further across the block and pressed his lips to Potter’s.

The first stroke fell. It was a line of fire, it was pure concentrated pain, and he shrieked, embarrassingly high, right into Potter’s mouth. Potter’s tongue met his and tangled them together as if he could suck the pain away. Draco caught his breath, knowing Charlie was waiting for that and then the next stroke fell. He spasmed, his whole body trying to get away from the pain, and tears started from his eyes. Potter licked his way down each cheek taking the tears away with his tongue, and by the time the last stroke fell, Potter’s eyes were shimmering with tears of his own.

"Come on now, let’s get you down," Charlie said. The cane dropped from his hand. "You’ve been so good."

"No," Draco said, "I haven’t served you. You have to let me—" He wasn’t sure why he said it. Was it just habit, feeling that things weren’t properly concluded if he hadn’t taken care of Charlie? Or was it that intense and unexpected connection with Potter? Was he running away from that?

"Hmm, well I suppose a little something is unfinished." Charlie came around to his head. 

Potter scrambled to his feet, hand firmly entwined in Draco’s hair. Charlie pulled his cock out and Potter tugged Draco’s head up with a gesture that might have been helpful and might have been possessive.

If Charlie noticed, he didn’t say anything. He rubbed the tip of his cock on Draco’s lips, casually and wordlessly getting Draco’s tongue out, mouth wide. Charlie didn’t thrust in though, just kept himself right outside, wanking hard. He came fast with a heavy grunt and pearly come shot out across Draco’s tongue and deep into the back of his throat. 

Draco sputtered and swallowed. By the time he’d gotten his breath back, his bonds were off and Charlie was taking him down, flipping him over and onto a cover laid out on the floor. He winced as his backside rubbed against it but he couldn’t spare a thought for that. Nothing existed now but the throbbing of his bollocks and his rock-hard cock. Which could use a little relief.

"Well?" Charlie asked, turning to Potter. "Did he give you a good ride?"

"Oh fuck yeah." Potter had collapsed on floor beside him, looking completely shagged out. "Brilliant."

"Do you want to reward him?" 

"Reward him?" The daft bugger looked confused. 

If Draco had been allowed to touch his own cock he would have grabbed it and shook it at him. "I’m not selling buttons on the street, Potter," he said, trying not to whine. "What do you think I want?"

"Oh," comprehension dawned. A true win for higher brain functions. "Shouldn’t we, er, clean him up a little first?"

Draco screamed inside. Clean was marvelous, of course, but what he wanted right now was a massive fucking orgasm. Before his bollocks exploded.

Charlie shrugged. "If you like." He flicked his wand and _Accioed_ the towels for Draco’s rub-down. 

Potter intercepted them, making them swerve and come to him, landing in his arms in a snowy pile. Show-off. A wave of the wand and Draco was wrapped and mobilicorpsed across the room. Potter landed him so softly his arse didn’t even protest—well no more than it already was—and set things up next to the armchair. 

There’d been a mother cat at the Manor once who’d had a litter. She’d let Draco play with her kittens for a while, but sooner or later she’d always pick them up by the scruff and carry them back to her box. She’d lick and clean them, all the while fixing Draco with a jealous glare. Washing his touch off. 

She’d had green eyes too, come to think of it. Funny how that came to mind right now, when Potter was so assiduously washing Charlie’s spunk off Draco’s chin. After that, Potter rubbed him down, arm by arm, then down his chest and legs, but not touching his aching cock, because he was just that kind of irritating sod. Potter had added some kind of cleansing charm too and it skimmed over Draco’s body, licking at his skin, making him feel sensitive and burnished like some fine antique. 

Potter rolled him up onto his side and started on his back, lingering on his abused bottom, rubbing him clean, bringing back a heated tingle that went straight to his cock. Not that he was wanting to bring things round to that subject again or anything—

And god, oh, now Potter was opening his arse-crack, rubbing him down there too. The cloth kissed across his hole and it was all he could do not to moan out loud. Potter was moving on, though, down his legs, though Draco noticed a conspicuous omission to the cleaning: Potter had left his own come where it had trickled out the arse and down the inside of his leg.

From this position he could see Charlie, who had banished all the toys back to the drawer and turned the whipping block back into the far-more-socially-acceptable shape of a coffee table. He ignored Draco’s pleading what-about-my-cock looks and lounged on the sofa, beer in hand. "Not bad, having a second top around. Don’t have to do anything but kick back afterwards."

"I think it would be nice to top alone too," Potter said, not looking up. He rubbed a little harder at one spot until Draco gave an _oof_. "That is, I mean, thanks for inviting me. You didn’t have to and I’m sure you would have had fun just the two of you—"

Charlie looked like he was watching his own personal comedy, one of those French ones with too much sub-text. "There’s nothing I would have enjoyed more. Honestly. I don’t get as much chance to train tops as I’d like. Bring all the pieces together, so to speak."

Potter nodded, his gaze fixed on Draco’s knees, which he knew for a fact weren’t that interesting. Not bad, of course, but not one of his top ten features. Perhaps—just perhaps--a trifle knobbly, if he had to say. And speaking of knobs…

Charlie took pity. "So, you going to give him that reward? If you liked what you got, that is."

Potter wrapped the blanket around the two of them. Even more interestingly, he scooted in behind, pulling Draco tight to his chest. "No," he muttered finally. Draco looked back at him—was that anger on Potter’s face?

Shock zinged through Draco. He stiffened for all the wrong reasons. Potter hadn’t liked it? Shame followed hot on the heels of shock but it wasn’t the good, arousing kind of shame. It had the ashy taste of failure, the grit of a cigarette you smoked to make up for the crap sex that you’d gotten. He’d given himself over to Potter tonight and the Chosen One had said, _eh, it was all right?_

Or maybe it was worse than that. Was it his past? Did Potter think he was good enough for an unfeeling screw but didn’t deserve a caring hand in return? Had it been a hate fuck, a long time in the making?

Charlie looked concerned. If Draco wasn’t a good boy—and he was, damn it—he would have pulled away, tottered over, and collapsed at Charlie’s feet. Put his head on Charlie’s knee and let that rough hand soothe the sting away.

"Well, if you’re not going to reward him," Charlie said finally, "you need to ice his cock down. His prick’s been up for a good long time now and it needs to rest." A flick of the wand and flannels soared their way, followed by a basin which filled itself with cold water.

Potter soaked the flannel, wrung it dry, then brought it under the blanket. Draco braced himself. Potter wrapped a soothing arm around him—insult to injury, damn it—and twisted the ice-cold cloth around Draco’s cock. 

He bucked and shuddered. His cock felt flaming hot in contrast to the flannel. It was stimulating for a moment and then gut-tugging fingers of ice seized his cock. He tried to get away, because fuck, Potter obviously cared nothing for his submission, but the arm around him was rock-steady, holding him firmly in place. Potter moved the cloth down to his bollocks, giving them the same stinging, freezing treatment. Then he cooled the towel and did it again, gently, thoroughly. 

"Push into it," Potter whispered in his ear. "Go on, help me bring you down. I know it’s cold but it’ll take the ache away. First your cock then your bollocks."

A little sob wrenched from Draco’s throat. He couldn’t say no to that voice, to those commands. He pushed his cock into the frigid water and let Potter take his erection away, stroke by stroke. Not the hot way, because Potter apparently didn’t think he had earned that, but the cold cruel way.

The worst part was that the flaming-bastard-sod didn’t go home right away. Instead Potter cocooned the two of them together, even wriggling his shirt off and pressing his finally naked chest to Draco’s back while he chatted away with Charlie. It was a consolation prize, Draco guessed, and he hated it for that.

*

Harry pushed back his chair. If he had to fill out one more form, he’d stab himself in the eyeball with a quill. Vigilante justice was starting to look better and better as a career option. Superheroes never had to file in triplicate. 

Ron was already standing, cloak slung over one shoulder. "Fancy a Friday night pint or two? Hermione’s having a meeting at ours and the place is going to be wall-to-wall house elves." He wrinkled his nose. "Five minutes stuck in a knee-high scrum and you start to understand why giants go on rampage." 

"Can’t," Harry said. "Got a ticket to that charity ball Charlie’s speaking at tonight. Benefit for British Dragons." 

"You? Voluntarily going to a do?" Ron gave him a funny look.

"What? I believe in Benefiting British Dragons." Right, ok, he was really going because Malfoy was going to be there. All week he’d tried to talk to the git, but all he got was glares and brush-offs.

Speaking of which, here was said git in person, blowing into the department in a flutter of nicely tailored grey robes. A stack of case files floated behind him, trailing along like sad little puppies.

"Potter," Malfoy said. "I need these by tonight."

"I can’t." Harry smiled. "I have to go to a ball. Shacklebolt’s always telling me to go to more of those. Good for public relations." 

"I know you’d planned to go—I saw your _extremely late_ ticket order. But Shacklebolt said these files need to be done right away." Malfoy smiled back, all blond and gleamy, looking like the angel he wasn’t. "I spoke to him myself and he agreed on the urgency of this." 

Malfoy flicked his wrist and the files whumped onto Harry’s desk. "Subsections 2J through 6M are missing on all of these. Must be done tonight. So sorry."

Harry gaped. "What am I, Cinderella? Do you want me to scrub the floors and clean the floo and sew my own clothes too before I can go to the ball?"

Malfoy flicked him a glance. "I’m not surprised you get mistaken for Cinderella in those rags of yours. Have you tried asking Kreacher for fashion advice? He might take pity on you and give you something nice to wear."

Ron made a sound that surely wasn’t a snicker. Just because Hermione had upgraded _his_ wardrobe.

Malfoy didn’t wait for an answer. He turned with a billow worthy of Snape himself and exited, leaving nothing behind but the case files and the faint clean scent of lavender soap.

Harry willed his cock to stop twitching. Ever since last week, the scent of lavender had done terrible things to him. 

"Malfoy really has it in for you." Ron grabbed his bag with the apologetic body language of a mate who loved you, but not enough to hang around while you did paperwork. "I’m starting to wonder if we’re going to be digging your dead body out from under a mountain of casefiles one morning."

"Malfoy is the one who should be worried." Harry grabbed the first file and picked his quill up again. "Death by addendum is too good for him." Or maybe not death. Maybe just a good, sound beating and then Malfoy apologizing on his knees and then—

He groaned and got to work.

* 

Harry looked around the ballroom, wincing a little at the glare off the crystal chandeliers. He wished he’d had time to change out of his Auror robes. Somehow he’d pictured a dragon benefit as being a little less fancy than this. Not that the dragons were going to be here, of course, but still. 

Would have been a damn sight more exciting if they were, though. He indulged in a quick mental image of a Hebridean Black chomping down Fudge et entourage. Bet they could have charged anything they liked if that’d been the entertainment. 

He sighed and took the glass of champagne the waiter offered. He didn’t even like champagne. It got up his nose and upset his stomach. Why couldn’t they ever bring around pints of lager? And maybe some cheese toasties, instead of those unidentifiable little clumps perched on fancy crackers?

At least he’d made it with enough time to track Malfoy down and ask him what the hell was up. He’d never written so fast, not even at his NEWTs. His right hand ached and for all the wrong reasons. It should be sore from bringing it down on that pure-bred, overly mannered, supposedly well-trained—

"Harry!" A familiar voice came from behind him. "I’m surprised to see you here."

He turned to see Remus standing together with Tonks. Of course, Remus had a particular interest in the well-being of creatures often classified as Dark. 

"Sirius not with you?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "The sight of formal robes has a moon-like effect on him. It forces him to transform, he claims, and he can’t change back until the robes are gone."

"In other words, he’s lounging on the rug snarfing dog biscuits and listening to the punk show on the radio." Tonks overbalanced against Remus’s shoulder, barely stopping her champagne from spilling. 

She’d been spending a lot of time lately with Remus and Sirius, Harry realized. That was nice. Good to see Sirius socializing with the branch of the Black family that hadn’t cut him off. Of course, you know what they said about Blacks and their cousins—

\--and their favorite werewolves? No. Couldn’t be. Harry recalled himself to his task—pinning Malfoy to the wall (figuratively) and finding out why his knickers were in such a twist. He nodded himself pleasantly away from Remus and Tonks and began to circle the ballroom. 

Where would a Malfoy be? There. Harry spotted a knot of well-dressed people and eager waiters and the flash of photographers. He strode in that direction. 

"Malfoy," he said when he’d wormed his way to the blighter’s side. "We’re going to talk. Now."

"There’s nothing to say." Malfoy shrugged one elegant shoulder.

"We can talk here," Harry said, flicking his eyes to the people around them, "or we can talk somewhere more private. Your choice."

"Fine," Malfoy said with very poor grace. "Drag me off to whatever corner is reserved for your sort. I should probably make sure they’re treating the riff-raff kindly."

 _I will not grab him by the hair and force him to blow me in the middle of the ballroom._ Harry repeated that to himself three times then gestured to a quiet corner where they could talk. "I trust you know how to follow?"

That earned him a smoldering silence, but Malfoy obediently followed him to the spot he’d indicated. 

"How nice to see you dressed properly for an event," Malfoy started in at once, looking at Harry’s Auror robes. "You look like you’re here to arrest someone." 

Malfoy poked at a scorch mark on Harry’s sleeve. "Or wait, this has to do with dragons, right? You’re Exhibit A in the importance of wearing proper protective gear?"

"I didn’t exactly have time to go home and get changed." Harry kept his tone polite with tremendous effort. "I got kept late at the office. Paperwork."

The thought of that evidently put Malfoy in a better mood. He relaxed against the wall and smiled. "Quite the miracle worker still, aren’t you? I’m amazed you got all that done and still made it here."

"I was motivated." 

A flicker passed across Malfoy’s face. "Why? I have no idea what your motivation is, you realize that? Last week evidently wasn’t to your liking. Fine. There’s no need to debrief me."

"It wasn’t to my liking?" Harry’s breath sucked in. "That’s not. No. That’s not how I felt."

"It wasn’t?" Malfoy looked uncertain. It moved his face in unfamiliar ways. "That’s certainly the impression you left me with."

"Why would you think that?" Harry wanted to raise a hand to Malfoy’s face, stroke fingers across his cheek. He couldn’t, not here in public, or at least not yet, but oh he wanted it.

"Because, you. You know." Malfoy pinked a little. "You wouldn’t let me."

"Let you what?" Comprehension hit him a moment later. "You mean you’ve been an arse to me all week because I wouldn’t let you come?" Miffedness poured into him. He’d had to do hours of paperwork tonight because Malfoy hadn’t gotten his knob off? 

"That’s pretty entitled for a slave, don’t you think?" Harry brought his finger up to poke at Malfoy’s chest. "Charlie’s been spoiling you." Clearly Malfoy needed someone to give him more discipline. Someone like Harry.

"Charlie doesn’t spoil me," Malfoy whispered back furiously. "He makes me wait all the time. Bloody hell, he’s put me in chastity for a whole month before."

Harry groaned quietly. He’d seen pictures of chastity devices. Wicked little lock-boxes that kept the cock from getting hard. No matter how much Malfoy wanted, needed, craved a climax, he wouldn’t be able to get it up and come. What he’d give to put one of those on Malfoy before he fucked him raw…

"So what then?" Harry asked, pushing that image away with difficulty. "If you’re so experienced at denial why are you kicking up a fuss at me?"

"You were angry," Malfoy said, looking away. He swallowed hard. "You didn’t make that decision because it was hot or because it turned you on or even because you couldn’t be arsed to get me off. You said no because you were mad at me."

A shock ran through Harry. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. He _had_ made that decision out of anger. "Malfoy—Draco—it’s not—" 

Malfoy gave him a withering look and pushed off the wall. "It’s not what? Something you can deny? I was up for a hot fuck, Potter, not a hate fuck. Charlie would never have allowed that. That’s what makes him a good top—" Malfoy’s finger came up and poked him right back, "and you a sick bastard."

Then he walked away.

*

Charlie sighed and watched Harry sag against the wall. The Boy Who Lived To Be Completely Incompetent At Relationships had done it again. How he could drive away Draco--who was quite literally gagging for Harry’s cock—was a mystery.

"Oh no," came a teasing voice at his shoulder, following his line of sight, "seems the course of true love has slammed into a wall again. Thought you were an expert at getting your pets settled with the right owners?"

Charlie reached back and grabbed the head attached to the tongue that was talking in his ear. "Fred. So glad you could make it."

"Oi, what about me?" said George, now on his other side. "I made it too. Great speech by the way. Nice and short."

"You know," Charlie said as he hauled the two of them in front of him and saw what they had on. "Many people would consider it in poor taste to wear dragonhide to a benefit like this."

Fred ran a satisfied hand down his Chinese Fireball red lapels. "Shows we’re invested in the continuation of the species. Anyway, we gave a truly massive check. Could’ve come nude and danced on Fudge’s table for the amount we lashed out, right George?"

"And the natural world thanks you for your generosity." Charlie ruffled their heads. "I saw the check. This whole benefit would have been a success even if no one else gave a sickle."

"Yeah, well, spill on the romance then, if you want to pay us back," George said. "What’s the problem?"

Charlie snorted. "I had a Welsh Green once, you know. Raised him from an egg. Lovely specimen, great flyer, and desperate to mate too, but the poor bugger couldn’t close the deal. Kept mucking up the mating dance. Finally I had to put a collar on him, disillusion myself, and lead him through the steps myself. Personal triumph, that: I got two tons of dragon flesh happily laid."

George and Fred’s eyes were fixed on poor Harry, still slouched against the wall, looking gut-punched. 

"We think we know—"

"Who’s the Welsh Green—"

"In this scenario." George frowned. "But what about you? Is our dear, dashing brother going to be left all alone if he gets the Welsh Green properly set up?"

Charlie’s eyes strayed across the ballroom to where Remus and Tonks were sharing a smile. "Oh, I’ve been approached about something fun. Nice mature couple looking to share a sweet young thing. Want some training done, looking forward to helping them out."

"Well that’s lovely and all but the important thing," Fred said seriously, grabbing at a plate of canapes that was going by, "is this: do you think Harry’ll rent Malfoy out to us like you do? Terrible timing, we just perfected that polyjuice tweak. Instead of turning you into someone else, it turns you into what you’d look like if you’d been born the other sex."

"We already tried it—"

"We made brilliant birds—"

"It’s a tragedy for the world that we’ve got cocks—"

*

Harry felt extremely awkward. Which, okay, was probably to be expected when getting into bed with two other blokes. Even if it was only to go to sleep, not to fuck. 

Thank Merlin Charlie’d come over at the ball to clink a glass. Before Harry could stop himself, he’d been babbling out, _can’t go home, massive doxy infestation, all right if I spend the night at yours?_

Charlie hadn’t even asked why a professional Auror—a Dark-Lord-slaying Auror no less--was apparently helpless against the wizarding equivalent of a mouse. Harry’d had to do it, though. He couldn’t leave it like that with Malfoy. He needed a chance to explain himself and he needed it be somewhere the idiot couldn’t run off mid-talk. 

So here he was, putting on a borrowed pair of PJ bottoms and standing nervously next to a bed transfigured large enough for three. Charm-brushed teeth, face washed, hair—well, there was nothing he could do about his hair. 

Malfoy was being the perfect slave. Ostentatiously, aggressively perfect. Bringing Charlie his slippers, kissing his feet before easing them on. Offering oral pleasure with a gracefully bent head on Charlie’s thigh. Turning back into a perfectly postured kneeling statue every time Harry came near. 

Git. Stupid, well-trained, ball-twistingly desirable slave git. Finally Charlie hopped into bed, right in the middle, and patted the bed beside him. Malfoy crawled in beside him with a beautiful submission only slightly marred by the triumphant glance he threw Harry. _NaNaNaNa,_ it said, _you’re not sleeping next to me._

Charlie _Accioed_ a collar—a sight that made Harry go _unnnngggh_ with desire—and snicked it closed around Malfoy’s neck with a practiced hand. A thin silver chain at once snaked out from the bedpost and attached itself to the collar’s ring. Charlie touched the chain, spoke a word, then turned back to Harry with a smile.

"I’ve charmed it to release at your command too." He smacked Malfoy on the rump. "Just in case you need to take this one to the loo or something. He’s not allowed to wander off by himself of course but you’re welcome to take him off leash if you like."

Malfoy turned and nuzzled into Charlie while shooting Harry a covert look that said _don’t you fucking dare._ Harry shot him back a look that said _just you fucking wait_ , but his heart was already dropping at the thought that he’d be on the other side of Charlie all night. That wasn’t what he’d hoped for.

"I’m off to sleep, then," Charlie added, "benefits wear me out something fierce, don’t you know." Then he scooted to the far side of the bed, ignoring Malfoy’s look of horror, and patted the bed between them. "Come on then, Harry. We’ll keep you warm between us. Safe from doxies too."

Harry’s heart leaped. He didn’t waste a minute, getting under the covers before Charlie’d even got his _Nox_ out. A trace of moonlight came through the window, providing a low silver glow. Just enough to see Malfoy out of the corner of his eye.

Malfoy was rigid next to him, radiating irritation, or possibly the desire to strangle Harry with his chain. Harry grinned to himself in the darkness anyway as he waited for Charlie’s breaths to ease into the rhythm of sleep. Somehow he’d managed it. A week of being cold-shouldered, insulted, and ruthlessly paperworked and here he was, in bed beside the twat with a chance to set things straight.

The minute he was sure Charlie’d sacked completely out, he cast a wandless _Silencio_ , wrapping Malfoy and himself in a charmed bubble. Now they could scream themselves hoarse without waking Charlie.

He’d barely gotten his mouth open to start apologizing, explaining, all those things that civilized people did, before Malfoy had rolled over and was practically spitting in his face.

"What are you doing here? How dare you invite yourself over and get into my bed?"

"Charlie’s bed, you mean." Harry reached out a hand and plucked at the white shift Malfoy had on. It looked like something a monk would wear, all pristine and severe, but it moved like silk. "What’s this, anyway? Thought he’d have you sleeping naked."

"I do, sometimes. Sometimes he tells me to wear this. It depends."

"On what?"

"On something which is none of your business." Malfoy’s ears were turning pink.

"A good slave wouldn’t refuse to answer a simple question from his master’s friend." 

"A good friend wouldn’t push his way into their bed while pretending he hadn’t treated _someone_ like shite last time he was there."

Harry took a step back. Metaphorically, of course. ‘Cause he was lying down. "Malf—Draco--"

"I didn’t give you permission to use my first name."

"I wasn’t aware I needed permission of any kind from you." Harry snapped back. "And all I really want is enough time to get out two, maybe three whole sentences without you biting my head off and running away." 

"Fine. Do what you want." Draco turned his back. "Talk yourself blue in the face. Say whatever you need to make yourself feel better. Wasn’t that always your way? Show your teeth then pretend you were just smiling so you didn’t have to face the fact you were every bit as dangerous as the other side?"

"The other side? You mean your side?" 

Draco’s back stiffened to rigidity. "So there it is. The reason you felt justified in slipping me a hate fuck right under Charlie’s watchful eye. Can you excuse deceiving him like that too? Or did you think he was like that as well, that it was all your typical Gryffindor bully-fest and why shouldn’t you join in?"

Harry groaned to himself. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It wasn’t a hate fuck at all. That’s what I need to tell you more than anything. I don’t hate you. Er," he held his breath, "it’s the opposite if anything."

"The opposite of hate? What are you attempting here, Potter, emotional connection via antonym?" Still, Draco’s rigidity edged into a different kind of stiffness. 

"I’m terrible at communication. That was always Hermione’s role. If she were here, I bet I wouldn’t be doing half so badly."

Draco snorted. "I think three in the bed is quite enough."

Harry swallowed. "Is it too many already? That’s rather where the, er, anger might have come in?" He put a tentative hand on Draco’s flank. "Can I hold you while I talk?"

"Can I bite your fingers off if I don’t like what you say?"

Harry grinned. "Only to the first knuckle." He rolled closer, pressing himself to Draco’s back and wrapping an arm around him. A thrill went through him at the touch, running from his spine all the way down to his toes, which curled. 

"I believe you were in the process of explaining, possibly through grunts, exactly what was going through your mind last week?"

Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s shoulder. "It was the best sex of my entire life. That’s why I was mad at you."

"You—what--best?"

Harry shushed him with a stroke of the hand and went on. "I’d wanted that forever. In general, I mean, that kind of sex," breathe, he told himself, "but to be really honest I especially wanted it with you. I was kind of obsessed with you for a long time, you know."

"Sixth year? I noticed that."

"Even Ron noticed. And trust me, if he picks up on something, you might as well shout it through a _Sonorous_. If I’m an emotional caveman, he’s a Neanderthal." 

Harry licked his lips and went on. "Wanked myself raw fantasizing about all the different ways I’d catch you that year and what I’d do to make you confess. How I’d punish you." He mouthed along Draco’s shoulder. "How I’d save you. And, er, there might have been a fair number of fantasies about keeping you locked up in Grimmauld Place."

Draco’s lips quirked up. "There are nicer dungeons than that place."

"I have a new flat now. You could come over maybe? I mean, you and Charlie." Harry bit his lip. Now they were coming to the heart of the problem. "The thing is, it was the best sex of my life, everything I’d always wanted. I thought you knew that. I felt like you were taunting me, letting me have it once then shutting me out. Showing me what I could never have again. That’s what that little flash of anger was."

Draco had relaxed slowly as they talked until now they were completely pressed together, chest and arse and tangled legs. Harry tweaked a nipple gently, twisting it through the fine silk, watching Draco catch his breath.

"That’s why I didn’t let you come. If I had to spend the rest of my life with the emotional equivalent of blue balls, I thought you deserved a night with actual ones." Harry moved his hand to the other nipple and tweaked that too, watching the first stay stiff with desire. "Plus, all right, it was really hot. I loved that part of it too. Does Charlie really put you in chastity?"

"Sometimes." Draco’s cock was paying attention now, starting to move underneath the shift.

"When?" Harry rubbed the nipple between his fingers, squeezing hard now, moving from stimulation into pain. 

"If I come without permission, I get put in chastity." Draco sucked in a breath as the pressure increased even more. "His rule is if I can’t control myself, I have to be controlled."

Harry eased up, rewarding him for answering. "For how long?"

Draco leaned into him, his body opening for Harry’s exploration. "Charlie decides. One week if he knows I didn’t mean to. One month if I did." 

"What’s this for?" Harry smoothed a hand down Draco’s front, fingering the shift. "You haven’t told me yet."

"It’s for control. Of course. It’s charmed. I can’t take it off or even pull it up over my cock and arse." Draco sighed, clearly knowing what Harry wanted next. He pulled the shift up and sure enough, as it rose it tangled around Draco’s cock, outlining it in silky white. On his backside it was the same, clinging to his arse, not rising higher than the crease of his bum.

"Why? He just likes the way it looks? Doesn’t want you stripping in the middle of the night?" Harry couldn’t quite figure it out.

"Can’t come in it," Draco said in a low voice, embarrassment creeping in. "I can get hard but if come gets on it, it shocks me. Hard. It’s to keep me from, you know, wanking. After Charlie goes to sleep."

If Harry’s cock hadn’t already been stiffening, that alone would have brought it to attention. He mouthed at Draco’s shoulder with increasing need. "What about wet dreams? Seems a little unfair. That wouldn’t be your fault."

Draco grimaced. "It stops me from getting that far usually. Pre-come makes the shocks start, just little ones, tingling, then stronger and stronger if I keep leaking. Wakes me up before I can come."

Harry’s hips surged forward. "Fuck. He makes you wear it every night?"

"Just when he thinks I might—"

Harry chuckled deep in his throat. He nipped at Draco’s shoulder. "And he thought you might have a problem tonight? Thought you might indulge in a little surreptitious wank with me here in bed with you?" His teeth sank a little deeper. "Answer honestly."

"Yes, all right? He knows I’m attracted to you. Even if I thought you were a complete arse."

"Thought? Past tense?" Harry slipped sideways, pulling Draco down. "Am I forgiven then?"

"Think. Present tense. I know you’re an arse." Draco’s cock was stiff and full underneath the silk. "But I forgive you for last week. I’m glad—" he paused, swallowing hard, "that it wasn’t what I thought." 

"Good," Harry said. He slithered over Draco, relishing the feel of his lean body, allowing his hips a gratuitous shove against the cock underneath him. "I like to get absolution for the first unforgiveable thing before I do the next one."

He flashed a wicked smile before dropping over the side of the bed onto the soft rug. It wouldn’t be polite to wake Charlie up with a shaking mattress. With a firm hand on Draco’s wrist, he dragged him to the rug too, flipping him to be underneath and pushing Draco’s mouth open for a kiss as he toed off his own PJs. He checked the chain—there was more than enough slack—then slipped down Draco’s body and sucked his silk-covered cock into his mouth. 

Draco’s hands sunk into his hair, clutching wildly as his cock was tongued. Then he pushed Harry back, scrabbling, trying to fend him off.

"No, fuck, didn’t you understand what I just told you, you cretin?" Draco’s eyes were still a little wild when Harry looked up. "I can’t come in this."

"No, you said it would shock you if you came." Harry punctuated each word with a quick suck. "Maybe I want to see that."

"Please don’t make me come," Draco begged but his cock twitched each time Harry’s mouth withdrew. "The little shocks are starting already. They go straight to my cock and bollocks. It’s so much stimulation that one I get close it’s hard to stop."

Harry licked up, closed his mouth over the head, waited a moment, then sucked Draco down. Draco’s back arched and he squealed, _nonononos_ coming high and fast. Harry could almost taste the little shocks on his tongue, faintly metallic, as Draco struggled beneath him.

He pulled off, savoring the whimper. "What will you give me if I stop?"

"Sir, I’ll call you sir. Would you like that?"

Harry whispered a lubrication charm and moved a hand to Draco’s arse, staying on top of the charmed silk. He molded the fabric to the crack and explored until he found the telltale divot he was looking for. "No," he murmured, as he tickled Draco’s hole. "That doesn’t appeal to me."

"Master, then?" Draco’s voice was getting babbly with nerves. Fingering his arse probably made him leak even more than a suck. 

"No," said Harry. He increased the lubrication and pressed in, opening Draco up. "No interest in being called that either. There’s only one way I want you to address me. If you figure it out, I’ll leave your cock alone for at least five minutes. Promise"

"And my arse, Potter? You won’t leave that alone--is that your point? Want to prove what a cock-slut I am, see how much you can make me leak by fingering my hole?"

"Potter’s not the right name either," Harry said. He flipped Draco over and yanked his arse in the air. "And it’s not my fault you’re a slut." He rubbed one finger in and out then added a second, loving the pained moans coming now. "You love a finger-fuck, don’t you? No wonder Charlie makes you take it in one thrust."

Draco shuddered as a hard shock hit him. Harry could feel his bollocks tensing involuntarily, could feel the twitches in his thighs. 

"You’re an arsehole, a wanker, a fucking cunt, you know that?" Draco humped the rug, helplessly. " An absolute bea-bea-b-b-beast," he stuttered out as shock after shock made him shake his rump and sob. 

Harry laughed and reached a hand around, giving Draco a solid tug, feeling the pre-come wetness spreading on the silk. "Nope, none of those were the right names. Keep trying or I’ll keep pumping."

"Harry, it’s Harry isn’t it? Is that what you want?"

Harry rewarded him with a quick kiss to the back of the neck. "Good boy," he said, staying there, draped across Draco’s body. "That’s right, that’s what I always want you to call me. Now open up your legs. I’m going to fuck you."

Draco bucked, realizing what was about to happen. It didn’t help. Harry had his cock on target already and Draco’s hole opened as trained. He screwed in deeper, pushing the silk in with his cock, fucking Draco with his shift as well. 

"Hell, you feel so fucking good," Harry said as he slid in. "You can’t resist at all, can you? Is it the silk or is it your training, or is it just that you want it so much?"

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, get out before the shocks—" Draco’s arse spasmed. The first little tingling shocks must be starting there too. "I figured out what you want to be called. So stop."

"Sorry," Harry said, rubbing Draco’s back and not even trying not to smile. "You’re still so fucking tight, even with all the pounding you get. I can’t help leaking, not when I’ve got you to ride."

Harry pulled back and slammed it home again. "Anyway, I’m not touching your cock right now. It’s not my fault if you love a cock up your arse so much that you shoot off without permission."

He pulled out all the way, enjoying the sight of the silk still obscenely fucked up Draco’s hole. He played there a while, teasing the rim, dropping down to lick and suck him there until the wail turned into a sob. 

"I’m going to come." Draco dropped his head and panted. "Please, Harry, just get me a cock ring. I need it."

"First you’re mad because you don’t get to come, now you’re whinging because you do?" Harry fucked back in with a brutal stroke. "Really, Draco, will nothing ever please you?"

Draco sobbed harder. "I’ll please you. Just give me a cock ring."

Harry kicked Draco’s legs a little farther apart, relishing the tiny extra fraction he could sink in. Then he rubbed a soothing hand on Draco’s lower back. "You’re pleasing me already. There’s nothing you can do so stop trying to control things. You’re not getting a ring and I think you know what I’m going to do."

Draco nodded his bent head. "You’re going to come in me, aren’t you? I’ll get shocked, it’s going to hurt—please--"

Harry fucked in and out, over and over again to the sound of Draco’s pleas. Pleasure shot up his spine with every thrust, coiling inside him, building to climax. His mouth was dry and his bollocks were pulling up but when he reached underneath, Draco’s were just as high and tight. He didn’t touch Draco’s cock—he’d promised—but he was just as close as Harry and sounding ever more desperate by the thrust. He’d never be able to control himself.

Harry came with a cry, screwing himself deep, watching Draco’s hole stretched by his thick cock. He could feel the silk twisted around his cock, soaking in the come. Draco tensed in pained anticipation.

Then the shock came, punishingly hard, crueler still for being so deep inside him. Draco’s arse spasmed and the sound that came out of his mouth was nearly a shriek. He clamped down on Harry’s cock, involuntarily, speared on his length, shaking and groaning, arching in pleasure mixed with pain. The shocks kept coming, smaller after the first, but Harry could feel each one as Draco’s hole tried desperately to close, milking his cock instead. 

"It’s too much, you’re fucking huge, I can’t take it, not with the shocks," Draco tensed and he dropped to his elbows, arse still up, forehead rolling against the rug. "I can’t—oh fuck—I’m going to—"

He came. Words turned into a pure wail as the shock speared into him, seemingly centered in the slit of his cock. His legs gave way and he dropped them both to the floor, Harry still speared within him. 

Finally, the last shock tingled away and nothing remained but Draco’s slow whimpers. Harry pulled out carefully, leaving the silk behind. So sue him. He liked the way it looked. He rolled Draco over and pulled him into his arms, smoothing his hair back from his exhausted face.

"Fuck, Harry," Draco said at last. "That was intense."

"Good?" Harry asked, a little worried. 

"Good," Draco agreed, looking absolutely boneless. Thoroughly debauched, really, in that pale, tousled way that only the natural aristocrat can manage. 

Harry eyed the bed and bit his lip. Probably not good manners to return your host’s slave covered in sweat and come. There was only so much a cleaning charm could do, too. He reached up and touched the chain where it met the bedpost. "Come on. I need to wash you up."

Draco let out a pleased-sounding sigh as he was pulled up. He’d be feeling it all day tomorrow, Harry knew, feeling the burn, the memory of fullness and he’d squirm every time he sat. The thought warmed Harry in a way that was surely very, very wrong but made him smile anyway. The guilt about what he liked was fading, replaced by the memory of Draco’s post-fuck face: sleepy and satisfied.

He led the way to the loo as slowly, then opened the door and brought Draco inside, settling him into the hosing area and clipping the leash to a handy ring. Low rails kept Draco’s kneeling legs apart, wide enough to make to pull his cheeks apart too. Harry caught a sight of the silk still stuffed inside his hole, and almost blushed. Part of him still wanted to apologize, no matter how satisfied Draco looked. The other part just wanted to do it again. 

A ring with a thin chain attached lay in the middle of the hosing area, right beneath Draco’s bollocks. Harry, having a feel now for how Charlie liked to run things, had an idea for where that was supposed to attach. He brought the ring up and snicked it around Draco’s cock and bollocks and sure enough it fit perfectly, holding him in place. The thin chain grew taut when Harry took his hand away, pulling down just enough to make Draco grunt and spread his legs a little wider, getting a little lower to ease the pull.

"All right?" Harry rubbed a hand down Draco’s side.

Draco nodded. An almost dreamy look was on his face, like he was far away and somewhere very good. He put his arms behind his back without being told, forearms crossed and high, out of the way of a thorough washing. 

Harry eyed the white shift, now quite plastered to Draco’s form. Might as well clean that too. He reached for the nozzle and tested the water until it was warm enough to redden. He wanted to see that, to watch Draco’s skin change color, lose its pallor as he scrubbed. He moved in behind Draco, kneeling too, taking the same position they’d fucked in.

Draco made a noise as Harry raised the nozzle.

"Hmmm?" Harry asked, leaning forward, not yet turning the water on him.

Draco’s eyes were still half-closed but he was looking down to where the shift was still tangled around his cock. His cheeks were turning pink. "I’m supposed to—it’s a rule--"

Harry shivered with pleasure. He thought he knew what Draco meant. He’d particularly remembered that rule when he’d read the contract. He pulled the front of the shift up, delicately untangling it from its pinching hold on Draco’s cock. The charm allowed him to pull it up apparently, just not Draco. He flipped it over, brought it to Draco’s mouth and pushed it inside. 

 

"Suck it off," he said, pressing a kiss to Draco’s jaw. "There, that’s good," he went on, as Draco shuddered but starting sucking at his own come where it had pulsed down the front of the shift. "Get it all off. I know you get punished if you don’t clean up after yourself."

While Draco obediently worked, mouth stuffed full of silk, Harry turned the water on and let it run down Draco’s back. The thin silk was almost transparent when wet, outlining the fine muscles underneath. He dripped some soap on, let it foam, then gradually, teasingly, pulled the silk out of Draco’s arse. Draco groaned and a quick look to the front showed that his poor cock was stirring again. 

Harry scrubbed a bit, then finally pulled the shift off, taking it gently from Draco’s mouth and checking that the job had been well done. Then with flesh now bared, he scrubbed Draco’s back, slow and thorough, soaping down his sides, massaging each muscle and washing the soap away. Down the legs with their fine golden hair, then up again, taking his time, trying to repay the gift that Draco given him.

There were two little silver clamps attached to rings on the floor. Harry eyed them with interest, measuring out what they might be meant for. Nipples, certainly, by the look of them. Harry pushed Draco forward and sure enough, they lined up exactly with those pale nubs. Draco’s eyes had fluttered closed and he was pliable, bending forward, forehead to the ground, clearly knowing this position well.

Harry picked up the first clamp and, feeling carefully, found a nipple. He rolled it between his fingers until it stiffened, then let the clamp bite in. Draco whimpered but stayed in place. Harry took the other one and, after stiffening up the other nipple, let that one bite in too. 

When he finished, he sat back up and almost groaned. Draco was kneeling face down to the ground, graceful even with his legs forced cruelly far apart, thighs stretched almost until they shook. The genital ring compelled him to strain just that little bit more or else have his bollocks stretched instead. His chest was held to the floor with the two wicked nipple clamps and his back was forced into an arch, arms high and tight below his shoulder blades.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Harry wanted him all over again. It would be easy to lube Draco up in this position, with his arsehole so exposed. To open up his hole and ream him without mercy. 

He wasn’t going to do that. Instead he returned to scrubbing, feeling little shocks of emotion pierce him. He wanted this. Wanted Draco. Couldn’t bear to leave him here and go home. He rubbed his hands up the inside of Draco’s thighs and washed—regretfully—his come away from where it had dribbled out of that well-fucked arse. 

Harry made the water a little warmer still. Draco moaned when its heat ran across his arsecheeks, down his crease and across his exposed hole. Little cries of pleasure came from his lips as Harry slowly, thoroughly, washed him clean. He looked so perfect Harry couldn’t resist leaning forward, licking a stripe across that hole. Then another back again, then he kissed and tongued until Draco was panting, little begging noises escaping from his mouth.

Harry was hard again too but he ignored it. Each time he had Draco the ache inside himself only seemed to worsen. He should have known a taste or two would never be enough. So what if you discover exactly what you want, he thought—what does it matter if someone else already owns it?

He finished, turned the water off, and carefully released the nipple clamps. Draco cried out as each one sprang free but stayed head to the floor until Harry tapped his shoulder, and he sat. His face was more relaxed than ever and his body swayed slightly to some internal rhythm but his cock was hard and bobbing. 

Harry tucked himself in behind Draco, kneeling too, legs pressed to legs, chest to back. He reached around and took Draco in his hand, loving the heavy weight, the heat, the swell of him.

Draco’s head fell back on Harry’s shoulder. His lips were working, his tongue flickering out, wordless pleas falling from his mouth. Harry stroked Draco’s neck with one hand and worked his cock with the other, slow and steady strokes, each with a twist at the top.

Draco’s hips began to thrust up. Not far—his bollocks were clamped too low for that. Each thrust ended with a hiss and but his head was tipping further back now, rocking in time with Harry’s strokes, and his eyes were closed in bliss. 

Harry rubbed a finger across the slit, watched Draco bite his lip, then pumped faster, harder. Draco’s body tensed beneath him and his eyes flew open at last. 

"Please—let me—Harry--may I--" 

This time, Harry said yes. 

Draco moaned, cried _Harry_ once more then came, shaking, in his arms.  
*

Harry got them both back to bed, though Draco practically had to be carried. He was nearly asleep before he even made the bedroom and he now he was curled peacefully against Harry, hand fisted in Harry’s PJ bottoms. As if Harry was the one who might get away, rather than the reverse.

No way could Harry sleep. Each minute that ticked away was one less that he had with Draco Malfoy. It was no real consolation to know his sixteen-year-old self had been right: the git was absolutely worth obsessing over. 

The first glimmers of daylight were just lighting the room when he thought of something. There’d been a long sub-section in Draco’s contract, not one of the parts he’d discussed with Charlie, but he’d seen the heading and caught a word or two on the page.

He grabbed his wand and did a quiet _Accio_ , calling the contract in from the drawer where it was stored. He snatched it from the air, stuck his glasses back on, and quietly, not waking anyone, began to read.

*

Charlie looked up in surprise as the owl careened through the open window and landed on his desk, looking wild-eyed and slightly singed. Brave bird, delivering to a dragon sanctuary. Most Ministry owls wouldn’t come near a place where they were the equivalent of flying biscuits.

"Paperwork? At five o’clock on a Friday?" Abbott shook her head, standing up to go. "What do they want documented this time? That dragons are still large, eat meat, and need a lot of it?"

Charlie snickered. "They might have objected to my addendum to Form CP-10 (Justification of Requests For Protective Charms). I might have included a small working model of a Hungarian Hornback."

Abbott grabbed her cloak and waved good night, still laughing, as Charlie took the message and gave the owl a generous treat. 

Interesting, he thought as he unrolled the parchment and read. It wasn’t paperwork at all. Well, not official paperwork anyway. It was a formal request from Harry to meet to discuss a potential business transaction. Charlie grinned. Finally. He’d almost started to think Harry had lost his nerve. Good for him for taking a week to think about it, though.

He scribbled back a time—later tonight, Charlie’s place—and sent the owl off. Then he apparated home, still humming, and gave Draco a feed and a thorough wash before sending him off to kneel by the floo. 

"Who’s coming?" Draco asked after he’d been kneeling for a (not particularly long) while. His pose managed to convey irritated hauteur while still maintaining the most perfectly correct submissive posture. 

Charlie felt a pang. He loved it when Draco played the petulant aristocrat. It made his hand itch and his cock swell and it invariably ended with that lovely bare arse over Charlie’s knee. Followed by a nice sound fuck. He’d miss that.

Still, you had to push them out of the nest sometime. Or out of the frying pan into the fire, as the case may be: Harry was no pushover when it came to tops. Draco’s arse would stay nicely reddened and his hole well-plowed with Harry in charge.

Assuming Charlie liked Harry’s offer. He’d had Draco since Romania. The brat’d been sent out to work in the dragon sanctuary as part of his probation deal, with Charlie as his overseer. There he’d tossed his blond hair and waggled his arse and dragged his feet and kicked up a fuss at everything he was asked to do until Charlie had been forced—forced!—to put him over his knee and deliver a sound spanking. After which, said brat had demanded a fingering, then a fucking, then crawled smiling into his bed and stayed and stayed. Charlie’d had no choice but to train up the little beast.

It had been Charlie’s decision, in the end, to send Draco back to England when his probation ended and hell, that’d been a doozy of a fight. Hadn’t wanted him gone of course but Draco needed work that was right for him, and that would never be dragon-keeping. 

He watched Draco lick his lips, clearly mustering some kind of argument for why Charlie should immediately reveal who was coming. Not surprising he wound up a barrister—the boy was born to argue. Out of punishments and into punishments too depending on what he wanted. He practically defined pushy bottom. 

Just as well, though. The quiet ones could be harder in the end. They’d take what you gave them and never give a whisper back that they weren’t getting what they needed until it all ended in a massive row. No chance of that with Draco. If he needed a good rough face-fuck, he’d snap his own handcuffs on and have your cock down his throat practically before you got through the door.

The floo crackled. Harry stepped out, shaking off soot, but Charlie’s eyes were fixed on Draco, watching his reaction. Stiffened spine, crackle of magic, forward lean as if Harry exerted a magnetic pull—

Good. Draco wanted this. This was a delicate matter, and it was his responsibility to make sure Draco was well cared for.

Assuming Harry was here to discuss what he thought. Charlie stood up, waving him over to the sofa, and sending Draco off to bring in drinks. Harry took the armchair instead, settling into it a little stiffly. He was dressed formally too, Charlie noted, in dark tailored robes and dragonhide boots polished to a shine. 

Bet Draco wouldn’t mind kissing those boots. He always did prefer to put his lips on quality. 

Charlie relaxed on the sofa, taking his lager and putting Draco back into a formal kneel after Harry’d gotten his too. 

"Cheers." He raised his glass in toast and took a nice long swallow, then put it down and waited for Harry to start. 

Harry shifted nervously. Charlie projected his best air of mild curiosity, thoroughly enjoying this. It wasn’t often he had the chance to make a fellow top sweat.

Harry rubbed his palms on his robes and opened a mouth that looked like it had gone dry. "Thank you for inviting me. I wanted. Er, I want. Yeah, I mean…"

Charlie took pity on him when it appeared that was all Harry could stutter out for the moment. "A business transaction, you said?" A little pity, maybe. He couldn’t help going on with, "if it’s a pet you’re after, it’s true that miniature Welsh greens have been approved for private ownership. Loyal and loving, they are. Are you wanting me to set you up with a reputable breeder?"

Harry twitched. "Er, a pet, yes. Well, something like a pet. I wasn’t thinking about a dragon of any size though." He sat up straight, nerve clearly screwed to the sticking point and added, "Draco, I mean. I want to buy your slave.

Charlie reached out and ruffled Draco’s hair, feeling for—yes, there’d been a sudden sharp buzz in Draco’s magic, and he was leaning toward Harry as much as his position would permit. Good.

"Buy Draco?’ Charlie stretched an arm across the back of the sofa. "Hadn’t planned on putting him up for sale."

"But you can. I read your contract. You have the right to sell Draco if you want."

Charlie gave a lazy hand wave. "Of course. Wouldn’t be much of a slave if I didn’t have the right to sell him on. Doesn’t mean I’m interested, though. Had him a long time. Put a lot of training into him." 

"I know and he’s a brilliant fuck—"

Draco preened. Charlie rapped his head.

"I know there’s a clause in there that he can only be sold to someone he’s attracted to, but I think I fit the bill on that." Harry took a nervous swallow of his lager. "That sounds immodest, I know, but I don’t think he could honestly deny it."

"Best to have it proven, don’t you think? Since it’s a formal offer you’re making." Now Charlie was really enjoying this. He tapped Draco on the back of the head. "Go on, pet. Give him a suck. Let’s see what it does to you."

Draco shivered. That first order was always hard for him if Charlie had company over. He stood and if that was a break in training—for such a short distance he should have crawled—Charlie was willing to forgive it. Especially given how gracefully he sank to his knees in front of Harry. 

He opened Harry’s flies with his teeth—show-off!—and pulled his pants down with his teeth too, smoothing the rapidly filling cock with his cheek as he did it. Then he pressed his lips lightly to Harry’s bollocks, waiting.

"He’s got to have the signal," Charlie said. "Can’t take you in his mouth without permission."

Harry flushed. "I could learn all that. You could teach me. If you agreed to sell him to me."

"Sounds fun." Charlie mimed a squeeze to the back of the neck, showing Harry the signal. "If I was willing to sell."

Harry wrapped his hand around the back of Draco’s neck. Draco at once raised his head and wrapped his lips around the bell-end of Harry’s cock, laving the tip. Then he sucked it all the way down ending with his nose in Harry’s curls. His throat convulsed, massaging the cock buried deep in it. 

"Oh fuck!" Harry’s legs spread and he thrust up involuntarily. "Fucking fuck, that’s good."

"Tap his head to release him," Charlie said. "He can give a freeform blow if you like, choosing how to suck you, but he’s got formal training. If you don’t specify, he has to suck you like a proper slave."

Harry tapped Draco’s head before his face could shade from red to purple. Draco moved immediately into bobbing up and down, giving a nice smooth ride to a cock made shiny with his spit.

Harry let his head fall back. His mouth fell open and a helpless groan emerged. He grabbed Draco’s hair and pulled him off. "Fecking hell, better stop. It’s too good."

"Well we know you like it," Charlie said, throwing back another swallow of lager, "but let’s see what effect it had on him. Turn around then, pet, and give us a show."

Draco shuffled back and kneeled where they could both see him, putting his hands behind his neck so nothing could be hidden. His face was red—embarrassment this time—but his cock couldn’t have been stiffer.

Charlie laughed. "Fair to say he likes the taste of you. Need to hear you say it though, pet. You attracted to our fine Auror here? You like his cock tickling your tonsils? You like him balls-deep in your arse?"

The redness of Draco’s face deepened. "Yes, I like it. All right? Yes, I’m attracted to him. Not that he’s perfect or anything—honestly, his hair could be a registered sanctuary for migrating birds—"

Harry ran a hand through his hair but he looked pleased. "He doesn’t lack for reasons to get his backside tanned, does he?"

"That’s something you’d have to learn too. What to use, when to use it, how long, how hard. If I was going to sell." Charlie beckoned Draco over. Watching that suck had gotten him up too. He could use a little of that.

Charlie sighed as Draco took him deep and worked his cock just the way he liked. Damn, he’d put so much work into the boy. It really would give him a pang to give Draco up, even if he did take on Remus and Sirius’s little project. 

"How do you feel about someone else touching what you’ve bought while you’re learning the ropes? I’ll be honest, the other night you looked a might possessive." Of something you didn’t own, no less, he added to himself. 

Harry palmed his cock, stroking it idly while watching Draco suck. "I’m fine with it. I’d like it, actually, if he was mine. It was more the knowing that he wasn’t mine, that I might never have him again, that made me want to drag him off and tie him up and keep him."

Charlie felt Draco hum with pleasure. Dragging off and tying up—never bad subjects as far as Draco was concerned. He tapped, pulling Draco off his cock. On to a more serious subject and he didn’t want to be distracted.

"What about the relationship? Not just the sex, all the rest of it? I won’t let Draco go to someone who keeps him as a dirty secret." This was the real question as far as Charlie was concerned, and where it might all grind to a stop. "Not the slave part, of course, that’s private. But that you’re together."

Harry met his eyes. "I’d insist on that anyway. I don’t want to sneak around. Draco would be my properly acknowledged boy-friend."

" _The Prophet_ will have a field day with it." Charlie felt Draco jerk and when he looked down Draco’s eyes had gotten possibly a little teary. Harry wanted him and he wanted the world to know it. That had to mean the world to Draco. "You ready to come out?"

Harry snorted. "Like they haven’t been poking into my private life incessantly already. ‘The Choosy One’—did you see that awful series trying to analyze what I wanted in a girl? I’m past ready to be out."

Charlie tightened his legs around Draco, making sure he felt the warmth and the support before he asked the next question. "And the Malfoy part? _The Prophet_ will slaver over that too."

Harry shrugged. "I get howlers whenever they link me with anyone. Way too many little old ladies living in little wizarding towns have very strong opinions on who I should be with. Mostly their granddaughters. So who cares if I get ten times the normal number of howlers? Hermione’s set a charm that _Incendioes_ them right off the bat anyway." 

Charlie nodded. "Actually, the coming out part might overshadow the Malfoy part. Could be the best possible timing if you want him, doing them both at once. If I wanted to sell, that is."

"What about Draco, though?" Harry frowned, looking concerned. "He’s going to get a lot of nasty mail too. Is that going to be too rough? I know he’s worked hard to put the past behind him."

A warm feeling went through Charlie, along with the increasing feeling that this was the right thing to do for Draco. "Good to see you’ve thought about that too." He chucked Draco under the chin. "Well, what do you think about that, pet? Could you handle it?"

Draco didn’t rush into an answer. He thought it over carefully. "Could I get that howler _Incendio_ charm too? Don’t really want to go to work and get screamed at by my mail all day."

"Of course," Harry said eagerly. "The howler crowd has the attention span of gnats anyway. They get whipped up by some other non-issue and before you know it they’re sending their howlers to the Cannons’s chasers or the sub-minister for floos or whoever."

"Would you protect him?" Charlie asked next, tipping his head. This was an important question too and one he wasn’t sure of. "If the Ministry comes calling, will you step in?" 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course I would. If you think I’m too fucking noble to protect my boyfriend from dirty politics, you’re wrong. I know there are times the Ministry is caught with its pants down and I know they like to yell, _‘look, there’s a Death Eater over there, get ‘em’_. I’m in a damn good position to protect him and I bloody well will." 

Charlie felt another shiver go through Draco. That teariness was threatening to escape his eyes and roll down his cheeks. "Well, then, that’s the serious stuff." He pulled Draco back to his cock, urging him down on it again to distract him. Draco would hate to be exposed by crying at a declaration of protection, even though he craved it. "But as I said, I might not be looking to sell."

Harry grinned. "There’s _‘no’_ and then there’s _‘let’s haggle’_. I’ve done enough interrogations to know the difference."

"You like to get fucked?" Charlie asked, settling into the pleasant rhythm on his cock. He raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"Not much. Maybe every now and then." Harry went back to palming his cock, watching Draco’s suck skills with lip-licking intensity. "Is he no good at it, then? Might be worth a discount."

"Oh, he’s good at it all right." Charlie bit back a groan at a particularly good tongue motion. "Doesn’t favor it, but he can give any kind of fucking you like. What if he did favor it, is what I’m asking? What if he needs something you don’t like?"

"I’ll bring in some sub who does like it," Harry said promptly. "Making him top some other boy? Putting him in charge of someone else’s slave? I’d love to see that."

"What if there’s something he needs that you can’t manage and can’t bring in anyone else for? What if he needs to move on?"

There was a strong mulish stubbornness to Harry’s jaw at the thought of Draco moving on to someone else. Interesting. But also good, given that he thought this might be the capital L, permanent kind of love they were both feeling. Still, it was important for Harry to think about. Anyway, he thought with a bit of meanness that made him buck up into Draco’s throat and drag himself across that talented palette, wasn’t that what Charlie was doing right now? Giving Draco up because the right person had come along? 

"I’ll do everything I can to meet that need," Harry said finally. "But if I really, truly can’t, then I’ll let him go. As long as I know he’s going to a good home."

Charlie nodded. Good answer. "By the way, I’d insist on a right of first refusal if you planned to sell to anyone else. There’s a responsibility there that keeps going on." He let Draco do his marvelous tongue-flick to the slit, followed by a twisting suck. His balls tightened with pleasure.

"What if there’s something I need that he doesn’t like?" Harry asked a little diffidently. "I mean, I know, top and all. I can just tell him to do it. But what if it’s something he hates?"

"Good question," Charlie said, though really it was getting a little hard to talk right now, given the heat coiling at the base of his spine. "He’s a pretty accommodating pet. Competitive too—you bring in another sub to do something for you and you can bet he’ll match it if he can. If he can’t, of course, then it’s the same as for him. You can find someone else to do it or you can let it go. You’ll have to negotiate on that as it comes up." A marvelously perfect lick went up from balls to tip, making him grunt out loud. Draco, reminding him that he was perfectly sure he could meet Harry’s needs.

"Is there something in particular you’re thinking of?" Charlie asked, when he’d got his ability to speak back. "Go on, pet, go suck Harry for a while. I can’t think, I’m getting too close."

Draco obediently went back to Harry, crawling this time, his mouth wet and swollen. 

Harry jerked and bit his lip as Draco sucked him down again. His voice stayed relatively steady though. "There was, well, something I might have thought about for a while. Didn’t see it in your contract."

"Thought it was pretty comprehensive." Charlie stroked himself, raising an eyebrow in interest. "You got some odd fetish? Grindylow groping? Hand jobs by Hagrid? What?"

"Square-dancing," Harry said, straight-faced. "American-style."

Draco sputtered and jerked up. Harry laughed hard and pushed him back down. "Just kidding. I’m pants at dancing and I’m staying that way. What I like the sound of is, er," he went a little red, "hand-feeding."

Charlie almost snorted. That was all it was? "Yeah, he’s used to that. Didn’t bother to put it in the contract. I like to start out that way with a slave, probably would have advised you to as well. Think it’s good for building trust and submission. Make him work for his dinner, at least until he’s reliably following your commands."

Harry held Draco’s head still and thrust up into it, one, two, three times fast. Draco on his knees, eating out of Harry’s hand—as images went, that clearly worked for him. 

"I’ve got some kibble in the kitchen still. High quality, very healthy. Keeps him in great shape."

Draco visibly pouted, which was an impressive thing to be able to convey while your mouth was being comprehensively fucked. Not back to that damn kibble again, his posture said.

"Mind now, he’s a high maintenance little beast. He’ll probably revolt if he doesn’t get his fair share of cabernet and caviar." Charlie shrugged. "Just so you know. If you want a cheap pet, he’s not the one."

"I can afford him," Harry said with a little flash of pride. 

Yeah? Charlie sure hoped so. He hadn’t grown up poor for nothing—he’d calculated exactly what he could ask and it wasn’t low. He opened his mouth and named his price.

Harry whistled indignantly. "I could get a new broom for that! A top-of-the-line broom!"

"You play Quidditch what, once a week?" Charlie pointed at Draco. "Him you’ll ride every night. Whatever you want, when you want it. What’s that worth?"

Harry was trying to pay attention but Draco was really working him now. Deep strokes, hand and mouth both, wet and long and full of suction. Harry’s eyes were closing and his head was tipping back—

Charlie timed it carefully. He snapped his fingers. Draco obeyed instantly, pulling off with a pop, sides heaving. Harry’s head shot up and he looked suddenly bereft. 

Perfect.

"Up on the table, pet," Charlie ordered. "Let the gentleman have a good look at you. See what he thinks you’re worth."

Draco scrambled onto the table like the good boy he was. His hair was tousled and his mouth swollen. He looked utterly, thoroughly fuckable. 

Harry followed Draco over, unable to stop touching for more than a few moments at a time, it seemed. His eyes roamed all over Draco, lingering on his pre-come smeared cock. "Do you ever," he asked hesitantly, "er, suck him? Is that something tops do?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Of course I bloody well suck him. I like cock, yeah? You do too or you wouldn’t be looking to buy. Go on, get a taste. Make sure you like it."

Harry bit his lip but dropped to his knees and sucked Draco in without another word. He worked Draco’s cock ruthlessly, stripping away every sticky trace with pleasure. The taste was just fine, evidently. 

Draco suddenly went taut, shuddering, holding himself still with the greatest of effort. He’d earn himself a nice vicious punishment for coming without permission, Charlie judged, in five…four...three…two… 

Harry pulled off. Draco cried out and couldn’t hold back a sudden thrust forward but he didn’t come. Harry licked his lips.

Charlie nodded. "Nice, eh? It’s all that good breeding, I expect. Their blood might not be any better but they sure taste sweet."

Harry laughed hard. Draco shot him as dirty a glance as he dared.

Charlie grinned. "Could throw in some gillyweed if you like. There’s a supplier in Romania who gets it for me at cost."

"Gillyweed?" Harry looked puzzled. "What would I want with that?"

"It’s not for you." Oh, the pleasures the kid was going to experience. "It’s for Draco. Think about it: you’re in the tub, your boy’s head is underwater, he doesn’t need to breathe--your cock can be down his throat for a whole hour if you like."

"Holy fuck," Harry’s throat worked as he considered that scenario. "Yeah, could manage that, I expect."

"Want another ride? Make sure he’s a good fit for you? Feels nice and tight around your cock?"

Harry stood up, eyes crinkling. "Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You know how hard it’s going to be to bargain when I’m balls-deep in him."

Charlie shrugged. "Just being a good host. What’s mine is yours and all that. While you’re here, that is." 

Harry snorted and turned Draco around, putting that arse in the air right in front of his cock. "While I’m here. I see your point, Weasley, don’t worry." He slicked his cock with a little wandless wave and paused, the bell-end dimpling Draco’s hole, not fucking in yet. He screwed up his face, looked pained, but named a lower price.

Charlie waited ‘til Harry shoved in. He named a price halfway in-between, raising his voice over Draco’s lovely wail. "You can make the difference back easy enough if you like. Rent him out a bit. The twins are the very devil on him but they pay well for the pleasure."

Harry’s head tipped back, mouth falling open. "Yeah? Could I watch?"

"Sure," Charlie said. "They’ve got a new potion wants testing. Want to see what he’d look like as a girl?"

Harry wrinkled his nose but he didn’t stop thrusting. "Not really my thing, girls."

"Yeah? Not even the thought of taking Draco’s cock and balls away? Making him take it up the twat like a proper bird? That wouldn’t give you a thrill?" 

Draco shook frantically and started pleading, no-don’t-you-wouldn’t-please-Harry-please. Harry turned bright red and fell forward onto Draco’s back, sawing away almost frantically. "Fuck, hell, fuck!" 

"Give him tits and make him shake them? Can’t imagine what he’d do to get his cock back. Bet he’d do about anything for that."

Harry’s gut-felt groan was almost louder than Draco’s wail. They were both tensing, they were both so very, very close—

Charlie’s toes curled in the anticipation of making a truly epic sale. "Sorry, Harry," he said without an ounce of shame, "but I really need to get to bed. Got to toss you out now—"

"Fine, yes," Harry babbled. "I know what you’re doing and I don’t care. You’ve got a deal. I’m buying him."

He hauled Draco back, impaling him, yanking him taut against his chest. "You’re mine now, you hear? I fucking _own_ you." He sank his teeth into Draco’s shoulder and closed his eyes with bliss then went absolutely rigid. He came with an animal sound, desperate and long and needy. 

Draco was making sounds of his own, wordless and wild. Harry’s eyes opened and he smiled with sweet malice as he stroked his hand down to Draco’s belly. 

He seized Draco’s cock and stripped it ruthlessly, while working his softening cock in Draco’s hole, stimulating him, letting him feel the come dripping shamefully out.

Draco’s face was agonized and Charlie could almost taste the moment when his control broke. He didn’t even bother to ask permission. He knew he’d never get it. He knew he was meant to be pushed over the edge no matter how hard he tried.

He threw his arms back around Harry’s neck and came, spurting high over Harry’s hand, arcing chest-high, striping himself with thick white lines. His cry was long and completely undone, involuntary, full of blissful release.

They came down slowly, holding each other. Finally, Harry’s eyes focused and he stared with glee at the evidence of Draco’s loss of control. 

"Oh, too bad," Charlie said, meeting Harry’s gaze with equal pleasure. He came over and scooped up a thick dollop of Draco’s come. He pushed two thick fingers into Draco’s mouth. Draco went shame-faced but he licked them quite clean. "Poor boy’s earned a punishment."

Draco’s head hung down. His tongue swiped out to clean his lips but he couldn’t even look up, let alone protest.

"But he tried so hard," Harry said with a sympathy that didn’t quite hide his delight. "Still, it’s so important to be firm, especially at the beginning. I wouldn’t want to spoil him."

"Tell you what," Charlie said to Harry with a mischievous look, "since he’s going to a disciplined home, I’ll throw in another freebie." He _Accioed_ a small metal device from the drawer. 

Draco had time for one more groan—this one from the heart instead of the groin—before Charlie was passing Harry the chastity cage, letting Harry do the honours. It snapped on with a wicked click, locking Draco’s cock away. 

"It’s just a week, pet," Harry whispered in Draco’s ear. "That’s not too long, is it? You can do it for me?"

Charlie flopped back to the sofa and got himself off with a couple of fast pulls as he watched Draco collapse forward into Harry’s arms. Pleasure rushed through him, a relief both physical—fuck, it was so good—and mental. There was nothing like seeing a pet go to a good home.

*

Harry’s desk hadn’t been this clean since his first day on the job. He rubbed his hands across its polished wood, looking with satisfaction at the fresh quill and the new bottle of ink he’d laid out. The most important paperwork of his entire life was about to arrive. He meant to sign it in style.

Draco swished into the office, robes just so, chin held high. In his hand he held a single thin folder, papers discreetly concealed inside.

"Oi! Here’s Malfoy with your Friday night paperwork," Ron said, rolling his eyes at Harry. "Honestly mate, you’ve got no one to blame but yourself. You should’ve been firm with him right from the beginning. Give a git like that an inch and he’ll take a mile."

"True," Harry said mildly, raising his eyes to Draco’s. "I’ve given him inch after inch and he just keeps wanting more."

The tips of Draco’s ears went pink. Harry oh-so-slightly licked his lips out of Ron’s line of sight.

"You have nothing to complain about tonight, Potter." Draco dropped the file onto his desk with a hand that might have turned unsteady. "All this one needs is your signature." 

Harry’s heart jumped. It had taken a week to work out the details of Draco’s new contract and he’d had a terrible fear it would somehow fall through at the last moment. Charlie had been careful, though, talking to each of them both separately and together, making sure that every point was well-negotiated and mutually acceptable. No sex this week. Just talking. 

Of course, it might have been a little harder on Draco. He’d spent the week in a cock cage, after all. Harry had been free to go home after each negotiating session and wank himself into oblivion.

Harry opened the folder, keeping the cover raised to hide the paper within from Ron. 

There it was. Draco’s contract. A wave of emotion swept through him, relief and joy and intense anticipation and maybe more than anything, a feeling of rightness. 

He raised his eyes again to Draco, almost shyly this time. Draco met his gaze with the same emotion welling up inside them, held back from spilling over only by the pure-blooded, overly starched skin of his well-bred teeth.

Harry grinned, grabbed the quill, and scribed his name with a flourish on the final line just beneath the other two signatures. "There," he said, handing it back to Draco. "I trust that’s all you need from me tonight?"

"Of course," Draco said, showing he could play at butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth too. "Wouldn’t want to keep you here late tonight. I was hoping to get to bed early as well, if you must know."

"Of course you were." Harry let his eyes flash down to Draco’s groin, grazing the spot where his cock must be so sadly confined. 

"You know what, Ron?" Harry jumped up and came around the desk to stand beside Draco, mischief catching fire within him. "I think we should get that pint tonight. I feel like celebrating."

Draco waited until Ron turned away then glared unholy death at him. His mouth opened to protest in some way that wouldn’t be too revealing—

Harry slung an arm over Draco’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze, reassuring and warm. "And you’re coming with us, Malfoy. That’s an order."

Ron looked startled then he grabbed his cloak and grinned. "That’s the ticket, Harry. These barristers have to learn which department is really in charge around here." 

"You’re inviting me out with you?" Draco sneered in his classic, inimitably snooty way until Ron turned away. Then it disappeared, replaced by a tremulous happiness. Harry was taking him out? Making it real outside the bedroom as well as in just as he had promised?

"A trip to the Leaky with the manual labor branch of the law, how lovely," Draco sniffed as they followed Ron out. His chin was still high but now his smile was barely hidden. "You think you can buy me off with cheap lager, Potter?"

"Of course not. It would take a fortune to buy a Malfoy." Harry rested his hand on Draco’s lower back, guiding him along, feeling a wild, possessive happiness bubbling up inside. An utter fortune. Worth every single galleon, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed the writing machine and are deeply appreciated!
> 
> Title from Depeche Mode's Master and Servant: "There's a game we play between the sheets/With you on top and me underneath".
> 
> Story written for HP Kinkfest 2017. All and etc. property of J.K. Rowling, you know the disclaimer drill.


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